Unforgivable, unforgettable
by moon on the willow
Summary: Today your son asked me if I had loved you,"said Hermione to Lucius's protrait,"I said No. But Lucius, please tell me, when you said you no longer deserve to love me, did you really love me?" A sequel to "Taken" by FictionalBadGuyLover. Welcome reviews!
1. Chapter 1 Orchid and Blood 1

**All my best wishes to Crumplette. Thank you for your wonderful beta skill!**

Disclaim：I don't own anything.

Warning:AU, DH spoilers, Non-con, Character death, Pregnant, Abortion Implication.

Background:

In the final battle of Hogwarts, the Light side won the war, but Voldemort and Harry Potter both died. Two years later, a 22-year-old Hermione Granger, after losing almost all her friends (the members of the Order of the Phoenix), her family, and her love Ron, was kidnapped to Malfoy Manor and hurt in the worst way by Lucius Malfoy. (see story "Taken" by FictionalBadGuysLover)

Lucius Malfoy, a Death Eater, was declared innocent according to a new law which defined the Dark Mark was the vital witness to judge one's Death Eater identity. So he still had his property and reputation. He thought his wife Narcissa and son Draco were killed by Ron and Hermione respectively, and was determined to enact his revenge on Hermione.

The war caused Hermione to suffer terrible harm both physically and mentally after she had been struggling to live strongly. Hermione was in anguish, but Ginny (the only other surviving Order member) had been in a coma for a long time, from which she just now awoke, and Hermione wouldn't allow anything to hurt Ginny.

Dolores Umbridge, the current Minister of Magic, hated Hermione to the core and would try her best to throw Hermione into the Hell, if she got the chance. However since she had no concrete evidence of evildoings by Umbridge, Hermione decided to bury her history with the Minister.

In a visit to Hogwarts, Hermione encountered her former headmaster Albus Dumbledore, who revealed an important secret to her. What was it?

How much more revenge did Lucius want to inflict on Hermione? Why was he hurting her again and again, but on the other hand rescued her when she tried to commit suicide?

And when he found out that Hermione most likely did not commit the murders of his wife and son, what would he do?

One day, Snape, the supposed traitor in the Order of the Phoenix, was found dead. Why was his cause of death so mysterious? Why was his corpse found in his family house after he supposedly had escaped abroad? And was there any connection between his death and the deaths of Narcissa and Draco Malfoy?

What about Hermione and Lucius? When Lucius found his hatred of Hermione changing into infatuation, and Hermione found her fear of Lucius changing into attachment, what would they do?

And who would be the ultimate revealer of the secret of secrets?

Chapter One Orchid and Blood Ⅰ

Lucius went back to his bedroom. He roughly threw the blood-tainted sheet onto the floor, then picked up Narcissa's night slip and held it. Then he noticed the ruby stain: it was _that girl_'s blood. Quickly he threw away the night slip in disgust.

He didn't know why he gave this slip to _that _mudblood. After all, it was Narcissa's. But in his manor all feminine clothes belonged to Narcissa. He could easily recall her glamour in those sumptious apparels. She had been a master of beauty and elegance, and her clothes were carefully chosen to accentuate her graceful, willowy body. Her clothes delicately underlined her features and brought out all her beautiful, luxurious and elegant quality. The night slip he just tossed out was the sole garment she wore on their wedding night. It was her most pristine, and he remembered the innocence and fear when she was clad with it on their first night together. Her fear of the forthcoming act of consummating their marriage.

Fear and innocence. So delicious.

Just what he needed.

Earlier in the morning in this room he had watched that mudblood wearing his wife's night slip. She looked so petite, delicate and innocent in it. As if the thick darkness could swallow her in a split second.

But she was no innocent. A girl of just 22-years of age, she and her friends had killed people. She herself had killed his only son Draco. Her hands were tainted with his son's blood. Her boyfriend Ron Weasley had killed his wife. Ron, however, was no longer alive, but since Hermione had been the brains behind most of the Golden Trio's operations, Lucius felt she had to take responsibility for his wife's death as well.

The sadness, the disgrace and the excitement he felt for the upcoming revenge kept him waiting in the darkness. When he watched the girl waking up this morning, he received his final prize of seeing Hermione breaking into one thousand pieces, tainted with humiliation. Like his wife's night slip which Hermione had worn was now tainted with the girl's virgin blood, a silent reminder of what he had taken from her last night.

After so many long nights of anguish since his family had died in the war, the satisfaction of feeling his revenge was finally within his grasp made him very relaxed and finally tired. He wanted just to complete his one wish of avenging his wife and son. So he fell onto his bed and drifted off to quiet sleep. He didn't even threw out the pillow, which held Hermione's orchid fragrance still lingering.

As soon as Hermione stepped out of the fireplace, her sore body slumped onto the floor. She struggled to sit up with her elbows, but gave out a small gasp: the wound in her core and those bruises hurt terribly. The wound broke again and she felt blood seeping out.

The blood drew her to reality: _I have just lost my virginity to that monster Lucius Malfoy_…

Why not to Ron!

"Oh, Ron" she began to sob. Her body shivered involuntarily with the memory.

"We should not do this"

"But why?"

"Harry will know. He will miss Ginny."

"I don't care! And why are you saying this?"

Ron stuttered: "Hermione, you are the best and most wonderful girl I have ever met in my life."

"I hear you. But that doesn't explain to me why you think we shouldn't do this!"

"Hermione, I…I love you."

"I know you do. And I love you, too. And that makes it right for us. We love each other and I want to make love to you!"

"But it's not right. This place is not right. This time is not right. You are the most precious person in my life. I don't just want our first time to be in a tent, rushed by the always present danger of yet another attack. You deserve much more!"

"No Ron!" Hermione cried in exasperation. "There will never be enough time as long as this bloody war is going on, and we have no idea how long it will last. I can't stand it RON! What if we end up with lost opportunities? I won't have it. This is the perfect time, and this tent here is the perfect place!"

"Hermione, my love." Ron reached out for her soft hands and held them tightly in his much larger ones. Then he looked into her chocolate brown eyes, which had always held so much wonder and excitement as long as he had known her. But now her eyes contained so much grief and despair, tears glistening in the dark orbs.

"Hermione, do you remember how we played chess in our first year when we protected the Philosopher's Stone?"

She could perceive what he would say. Silently she listened to him.

"I was a knight. The white Queen ate me, and you and Harry passed the game."

Hermione said nothing. An ominous feeling ran through to her.

"Harry… Harry is the Chosen One. He can't die, ever. He is the last one to live. And Hermione, you are always far cleverer than me, and the others. I'm afraid," Ron stopped to take in a long, deep breath, "I am afraid I will die."

"NO RON!" Hermione immediately reached to cover Ron's mouth with her hand, but Ron's stronger hand grasped hers.

"Hermione, listen to me!"She could tell that Ron's voice was quivering. "I don't fear death, but I fear, I fear if you die…

"Oh, Ron." She softly kissed Ron's palm. "So I want this."

"No Hermione,I can't!" Ron grasped her hands hard."I…I don't know how to say this Hermione! If you die I'll be heartbroken! But I'm never sensitive, Hermione you know that. I can barely live without…you" Ron's fingers entwined with hers. "But Hermione, you are more sensitive than me…always thinking…I'm afraid you can't stand it. And what if you become pregnant and I die？I can't let you carry this burden alone all by yourself. Hermione, if I die, I'll hope you forget me as soon as possible."

"Oh, Ron, how can I…" holding his hand on her heart, Hermione let her tears flow freely. Now she knew how much Ron loved her, which made her feel bittersweet.

Ron fumbled to weep away her tears: "Oh, Hermione, don't cry… If Merlin wants us to be together, nothing can stop us…"

"Yes, you are right, nothing can." She tried to stop her sobbing, her chest rose and fell because of it.

"Hermione…" Ron said hesitantly. One moment later, he pressed her hand on his heart. She could clearly feel the young man's heartbeat:

"Hermione, I vow that, once the bloody war is over, I, Ronald Billius Weasley," his voice was so serious, she never heard him speak like that before, "will marry Hermione Jean Granger as long as we are both alive!" Ron softly touched her palm with his thumb, his voice becoming softer: "And we immediately go to Australia to pick your parents up, Hermione, anywhere I will be with you."

Hermione looked into Ron's bright blue eyes, where she saw so much sincere，solemnity and love, which made her felt so warm and restful.

"Yes, Ron, I will." she said quietly. "And Ron, hold my hand please." His big hands covered her smaller one and squeezed it. They lay together in darkness.

"Oh, Ron. If only we hadn't missed that night. If only we had known what was about to come…"

This was the first time since the war ended that Hermione was not that upset that Ron was dead, because the news of what Lucius Malfoy had done to her last night would have broken him. No, she thought, if Ron was alive she would never leave his side, not giving anyone chances to catch her alone.

Two years ago, when the_ Avada_ from Voldemort shot first Ron, second Harry, she believed she was the third one to fall under the green light. She had never foreseen that fate would spare her life for nearly two years, and then throw her into such a hell.

She decided then and there to live strongly for Ron, to honor him, and to honor the life that was taken from him. But now, deep down inside her she felt that somehow she had disappointed Ron. She had allowed Lucius Malfoy, Lord Voldemort's right hand man, and their sworn enemy to break her, instead of fighting and protecting herself.

Oh, had her friends Ron, Harry, Neville, and Luna, or some of the other members of the Order of the Phoenix like Dumbledore, Mcgonagall, Lupin, Tonks, Mr and Mrs Weasley, Bill, or even her dear parents still been alive, she would have stayed with them. Then last night would never have found her wandering outside, and she would have never encountered Lucius Malfoy. And everything would be fine.

But as so many things in life, that dearest wish of hers was just a dream.

Now her home was so deadly quiet. It did not matter to cry out loudly. But she didn't cry. Nor did she have tears.

A quiet, sharp pain ate her heart slowly. She knew she was no longer the Hermione she used to be.

Clenching her teeth in pain, she struggled to stand up and limped into her bedroom. She opened a drawer, took out some salve and began to cure herself. Covering her finger with salve, she entered the finger into her channel. The finger brushed against the wound and brought back the sharp pain where Malfoy's large manhood had torn her too tight passage. Hermione hissed through her teeth, trying her best to not let tears fall down.

Then she changed into the longest, thickest pajamas to counteract the coolness from the cold spring morning which seeped inside the room, and slipped under her thick cotton covers. The heavy cotton pressed against her body, letting her feel restful and so warm. This felt so different from _those _cold silk coverlets in Malfoy's bed. She curled into a fetal position, letting the bedcovers hold herself as if she was in the womb.

She didn't close her eyes. Just lying there, eyes open, feeling the light from the windows becoming lighter and lighter. The sun rose in the East. Noon came and went. The afternoon light gradually dimmed. Then another night began to fall.

Author's note: thank you for reading my fanfiction! I'm so sorry for my bad English!

I have read many wonderful fanfictions about LM/HG pairing. When reading them I find a tendency: when Malfoys are delicious and charming, the Weasleys are always plain, poor, even mean, especially Molly, Ron and Ginny. The contrast between Malfoys and Weasleys are sharper than that between Harry, Dumbledore and Voldemort. I come up with a funny idea: Lucius can always take Hermione away from Ron and (by the way) conquer all women in and out of the computer screen. (I am one of those women.)What if he can't? What if Hermione still love Ron deeply after Lucius has given her his heart?

That is my original intention. But while writing the story, I find it isn't as easy as I thought. There are always someone who can easily make others fall for him, such as Lucius in most LM/HG fanfictions. So handsome, intelligent, rich, romantic, dark and much more. But he is a bad guy and always. I intend to describe him like this: wick but touching. My plot must be convincing. that isn't an easy job and I need more help. I hope you tell me what you think when reading it. Please! Please! Please!

While writing it I can't help to describe other interesting characters in Harry Potter: Dumbledore, Voldemort, Snape, the Black sisters, and so on. I do my best to keep my characters in character and dig up their personality according to the canon. I may write more stories based on this fanfiction to describe them.

All the above is just my own opinion and I don't want to offend anyone!

And thank you again!


	2. Chapter 2 Ginny's waking

**Thank you for your wonderful beta skill, my good-hearted Crumplette!

* * *

**

Chapter Two Ginny's waking

Hermione didn't know how she fell asleep. Her world fell into the darkest darkness gradually until light invaded the realm, stinging her eyes. Hermione was pulled out of her darkness, and blinked in the light. She shut her eyes again until the vivid red faded, and then realized she heard something.

Absent-mindedly Hermione looked around for the source of the noise. A big, grey owl was hovering outside her window and knocked against the glass pane with its claws and beak.

Hermione stared blankly at the owl. Impatiently the owl knocked harder and made more noises.

"Oh." despite the throbbing pain between her thighs, Hermione crawled out of the bed and limped to open the window.

The owl threw a note at her, and without permission picked up some nuts from the bowl with owl treats she kept on her table for the messengers. Throwing Hermione an angry look the owl drank some water from the jar next to the bowl, and flew away.

Hermione slowly opened the note and read it.

_"Miss Granger:_

_it fills me with happiness to finally be able to tell you that Miss Weasley awoke from her coma yesterday evening. As you are her custodian I hope to meet you at 2:00pm this afternoon to discuss her further treatment._

_Sincerely, _

_Dory Heart, Healer, St Mungo's Hospital_

There was a long, stretched out silence before she understood the content of the letter. Hermione's weak hands trembled so terribly that she dropped the note onto the floor.

Ginny had woken! After half a year of prolonged coma! Oh, Merlin! She suppressed her pain and managed to drag herself into the bathroom to take a bath. Then she dressed herself in a cashmere sweater, a pair of wool trousers, and a thick dark grey overcoat. She put on light make-up and a glamour charm to cover up the bruises from last night, put on a white cashmere hat and wrapped a red tartan scarf around her neck. This was the first time she wore some bright colors since the war.

There was still enough time left until the 2pm meeting the healer from St Mungo's had set up. Hermione forced herself to eat some toasts and warm water, because she didn't believe her stomach could hold anything else. The food calmed her anxiety down a little. Afterwards she grabbed her purse and set out on her journey across the city to the hospital

She arrived at London center by the characteristic red double-decker bus, and walked the remaining few blocks to the Leaky Cauldron where she could then enter Diagon Alley. The sun was shining brightly, enveloping the busy streets in a friendly glow. In the bright sun, in the _light _there was no reason for her to be afraid.

When she arrived at the Leaky Cauldron, she gave the innkeeper Hannah Abbott a brief nod, and stepped through the moving brick wall into Diagon Alley.

Quietly she walked along the street. The terrible times of the war against Voldemort had passed, and Diagon Alley was as bustling as it used to be. Witches and wizards busily scurried about with happy faces. Although some shops were still closed, she delightfully noticed that people had begun to pick up the pieces left over from all the destruction during the war. Windows had been cleaned, steps and doors had been repaired and painted, and some shops had been completely rebuilt. The shop owners had worked tirelessly to prepare the district for the re-opening. She leisurely sauntered through the alley, looking at the shops, enjoying the scene of recovery. Then, however, her feet brought her right in front of a ruin which showed no signs of reconstruction efforts, and she passed quickly without a glance.

This dark ruin used to be Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.

Just half a year ago, a fire had taken hold of the Weasley Twins' joke shop, savagely unleashing its fury on the old building. All efforts to extinguish the raging fire had sadly been for naught. George Weasley had managed to evacuate all customers out of the burning building, all but one. After successfully gathering the people from the shop's showroom, and leading them outside to safety, he heard the voice of a small child desperately calling for help from within the shop. He longingly looked at the frightened group of people who were now standing huddled in the safety of the street's open air, but his Gryffindor spirit made him turn around to search for the child still trapped inside the burning building.

That is how the people who were there remembered him. The next day when the fire had burnt down, his body was found among the ruins, protectively holding the remains of a small child in his arms.

Charlie, George and Ginny had been the sole survivors of the nine people Weasley family. Ginny and George had become very close, much less that they were the only two to stay in Britain. They were all they had left. Everybody else, their parents Molly and Arthur, and their siblings, Bill, Fred, and Ron had been killed during the war.

After George's funeral, Ginny who now had lost almost everybody in the cruelest way just couldn't deal with it anymore. So one day she took her family's eight wands she had carefully kept as a memento, pointed them at herself and said

"Obliviate!"

"It can't be! Doesn't the wandmaking theory state _'a wand chooses its wizard or witch, not the other way around'_? Nine wands should disturb each other!"

"Not in this case. The wands are her family's wands. In pureblood families the family blood bond is very potent, and rubs off to the wands of the family members. And if the family members feel very close to one another as well, like it was the case with the Weasleys, their wands will not disturb each other. Instead they will harmonize, and even multiply their strength. There were eight people in her family, but thank Merlin she was unable to handle them all, which abated the lethality more or less. Otherwise, the result of the charm had been much more severe."

"Then…what could this mean for Ginny?"

"Possibly … permanent coma."

dHermione arrived at St. Mungo's hospital, and ran towards the section where Ginny was being cared for. Every Saturday since Ginny had obliviated herself she had come to visit her. Each time it had been the same: Ginny was lying on her bed, completely still, her skin an almost white pallor, her eyes closed, her body connected to the magical devices which kept her alive. Hermione would then sit down on the chair next to Ginny's bed, and watch her lying there, her chest heaving in a faint shallow movement, her breathing almost unnoticeable. She would talk about their times together at Hogwarts, at the Burrow, all the laughs they had shared, and all the tears they had shed together. It felt as if Ginny could share the misery and sorrow which silently tormented her soul, though half an hour later Hermione would sigh with regret that Ginny was basically gone, and most likely would never wake up again. Sometime she would silently cry for her friend who ran away from misery but was trapped in unconsciousness. . Then she would slowly rise from the chair, and leave the room, and the hospital.

But not today. This time she could hardly wait to reach the room where Ginny's bed was situated in. The friend whom she had believed to be lost forever had finally re-woken from her coma! Ginny was back! Well, most likely not her memories, but everything else would be there. Maybe with a new Ginny, it could be easier to move on and become happier. Maybe with a Ginny without memory, it would be easier to try forgetting about the past. Hermione believed so.

She ran towards the room, burst the door open, and entered the ward.

On the bed beside the window, Ginny sat up with her back leaning against the bed's headboard. Her once rosy cheeks now were whiter than white, her once glistening, vividly fire-like red hair now was dull, and lusterless.

"Ginny?" asked Hermione, her voice quivering with anticipation.

Ginny didn't even move a muscle, as if nothing had happened.

_What was going on? Did she not recognize me? Were so many of Ginny's memories gone that she had no recollection of me? Did she not even know my name anymore?_

"Ginny?" Hermione's voice rose a little. Suddenly she felt very afraid.

As if waking from a deep sleep, Ginny slowly turned her head towards her. But on her blank face, Hermione couldn't catch any expression.

"She won't answer you. So far she hasn't said one word." A familiar voice spoke all of a sudden.

Before seeing her face, Hermione knew it was Pansy Parkinson. She was a tall, thin girl, who had short black hair and moss green eyes. Although her nose no longer was wrinkled in disgust at other people as if smelling something sour, her eyes still had the sharp hint of arrogance. Now dressed in a plain nurse uniform, Pansy looked hard and calm. Her family had suffered great losses in the war,, and the girl who had never performed any type of physical labor had enlisted in the nursing program to learn how to be a nurse and servicing others.

"Healer Heart says she wants to speak to you." Pansy said indifferently.

Hermione was afraid to look at her. After all Hermione had effectively killed Draco Malfoy, Pansy's boyfriend from Hogwarts times. Turning to see Pansy's cold face, she couldn't help but plead "Please…"

"Weasley isn't under my care. This here is the Special Ward, and I only come here when necessary." Parkinson gave her an icy look and left.

After half an hour in Mrs. Heart's office, Hermione sat in awkward silence.

At last it was Mrs. Heart to break the silence: "I cannot promise you that Miss Weasley will recover entirely in just one day. After all, she just woke up last night. After her long coma it will take a respectively long time for her to heal."

Hermione looked up slowly "You never expected her to wake up, didn't you. Just like Mr. and Mrs. Longbottom, right?"

The healer looked at her with her kind, compassionate eyes: "Please Miss Granger, you must understand. None of us healers here expected Miss Weasley to wake up again with her long coma. I think it is rather a miracle that she did!"

Lost in thought for a moment, Hermione said: "Can I take her home?"

"I'm afraid not."

"I can take care of her. She is so quiet and won't harm anybody. Now she is my only family, I mean, she always had been like a sister to me. …And I'm able to provide for her and administer her care…"

After the war Hermione had been finishing her Hogwarts education via owl post, and had achieved 10 "Outstanding" in her NEWTs. Now she was studying to become a Healer herself, and just a week ago had managed to gain her primary qualification.

"I know. But actually Miss Weasley isn't doing as well as she appears to be at this moment: Each time she hears somebody mentioning the name of one of her family members she suffers through a hysterics attack. It looks like the _obliviate_ curse erased her memory, but not the deeply rooted family blood bond. We have to study her further to discover what other problems she might have."

After a moment, Hermione said in her feeble voice: "At least money for Miss Weasley's care will not be a problem.…"

"We will do our best…"

Tiredly Hermione walked back through Diagon Alley. The strength and euphoria she just had exuded from seeing Ginny being awake again was leaving her gradually. Her forehead began to sweat from walking, and the wind felt so cold on her face. She made her way to Madam Malkin's fashion emporium. She needed to buy some clothes for Ginny.

It was 4:00pm. The shop turned out to be crowded. Madam Malkin came up to Hermione with a smile.

"Hello, Miss Granger. It's been a long time since I've seen you the last time. Can I help you find something?"

"Thank you, Madam Malkin, but that won't be necessary. I already know what I am looking for." Hermione said, passing through rows of clothes which were vivid, if not too vibrant. Ginny never fitted vivid colours, which could only make her skin and bright hair glare. Although now Ginny was so pale… God blessed that she could recover as soon as possible! Hermione hoped that this new Ginny would still like the same colors and type of outfits she did before. Hermione made her way to outfits with colorings consisting of quiet blue, green and silver.

"Nowadays most people prefer bright colors. Fancy colors feel more cheerful and enthusiastic. After all life is moving on." Madam Malkin chattered joyfully.

Immediately Hermione felt a pang in her heart and resumed to silence. She felt sad and angry. Since the last Death Eater attack, people seemed to have forgotten about her and the other Order members, and tried to forget the whole war altogether as soon as possible. To move on, like Madam Malkin had said.

At this time those few remaining Death Eaters who were still alive after the war were focusing their attacks on Order members, and were no longer attacking "regular people". And it had been 8 months since the last attack, which was basically a long time. The wizard society no longer felt as scared as they had been during the war and right afterwards, when there still had been frequent Death Eater attacks. But since their target had shifted to solely Order members, people had become tired of being scared. And since Hermione was the last living muggle-born member of the Order of the Phoenix, it seemed the fact that she was still alive provided enough assurance for the British wizarding society to assume they were safe. Hermione, however had no idea as to what reason she was so lucky to have survived.

Hermione hastily turned around and ran out of the shop before she burst with anger. She thought maybe familiar clothes from the Burrow would help Ginny.

Later she went back to the Leaky Cauldron. The innkeeper, her schoolmate, Hannah smiled and moved to her table.

"Hermione, what happened? You look so pale and…"

"Nothing, my knees just hurt."Hermione wearily brushed a lock of damp hair from her forehead: "And it's Ginny. She has finally woken up again!"

Hannah briskly moved back to the counter, and quickly returned with tray laden with a bottle of champagne, two glasses, a teapot with cups, and some sandwiches. She poured both Hermione and herself each a glass of Champagne, and a cup of hot tea. Holding up the champagne glass towards Hermione for a toast she said: "I know you don't like alcohol, but this is reason to celebrate. For both Ginny, and you."

Hermione gave her a grateful look and took a delicate sip.

"Ginny is awake again, but ….. she does not speak. She didn't even recognize me, Hannah."

"You, Hermione, are the one of us who never lost hope. Don't you remember it was you saying all along that one day she would wake up again? Now she is awake again. After a while she will speak as well. Then she will learn how to walk, and so on. Ginny will recover from it all. It just needs times."

"Thank you, Hannah." Hermione gave her a pale smile, "I'm so happy to hear that. At least…we both know her, and what she is capable off. She will make it. I'm sure of it."

"Yes. That's my girl. See, I always have a way to cheer you up again. Would you like to try a sandwich? Those are made from my best recipe." she smiled gently, "It is my invention. Ernie likes these sandwiches very much. And don't worry about paying, our little celebration dinner here is on the house."

Hermione and Hannah continued to chat for a while, catching up with each other. Before her leaving Hannah packed many sandwiches, and a grateful Hermione hugged Hannah good-bye, and left again.

After the long walk to her flat, Hermione found herself sitting in her living room. She made tea, poured some into a mug, added some citrus nectar, and stirred it idly.

One mug. One saucer. One glass. One teaspoon. Just one. She felt the impulse to snap them into a thousand pieces.

She looked around the room. A neat, little living room. The wallpaper was ivory with light flower pattern, in harmony with the elegant furniture. When she moved to look out of the window, she would see a beautiful garden with soft, thin grass covering the ground and buds decorating the bushes. In the centre of the garden stood her home, a small two-story house.

But she only felt so cold and uncomfortable. Her home felt _large _and _empty _home, after everyone else was gone. Her parents who had lived with her were dead, and her beloved half-kneazle cat Crookshanks had left her and moved on.

Her dear parents fortunately didn't die during the war's frequent attacks on muggle homes, as she had always feared. When the war was finally over, she went to Australia to restore her parents' memory. After a few days of adjustment they finally had understood her reasoning for sending them away, and had gladly accompanied her back home to England to live with her. Then, just after one month, the day before they their large reunion celebration, her parents went to town for some last minute shopping, but never returned. When the police informed her they had been killed in a car accident, she was cooking congee. She had planned to cook chicken soup for their celebration.

Her Crookshanks also left her, on the day of her parents' funeral. When she returned back home, she was surprised to find Crookshanks waiting for her besides the door. Croookshanks stared at her quietly, then suddenly he smiled. Hermione didn't even know a cat could smile. Then he jumped onto her shoulder to nuzzle her neck as if to say his good-byes to her who had been his human companion for many years. Afterwards he jumped away from her, and finally disappeared in the nearby bushes. He never returned.

She would never forget that day and the helpless feeling. Looking at Crookshanks disappearing in the bushes, she didn't even have strength to call him back. At that moment all she could feel was coldness, her heart drenched of all warmth. _I can't keep my parents and friends; I can't even keep a cat._

Hermione drank the warm tea sip by sip, and a tear dropped into the mug before she could stop it.

After three hours, Hermione lay in bed in her nightgown. After one day's surprise, happiness, frustration and exhaustion, she could still feel a slight pain.

_Inside_ her body. Just a slight pain, constantly reminding her of what had happened.

Hermione held herself tightly. Suddenly she jumped out of her bed and slammed all windows and doors shut. Then she felt ridiculous at her action. She had set up magic wards. What protection could a glass window provide if she didn't even expect her own magic to be strong enough to keep unwanted people out?

So what?

But Hermione was afraid of Lucius. He was so unpredictable, and she could not rule out for him to decide to pay her a visit. Lucius was much stronger than her, and on all accounts, both physically, as well as magically. He was able to kill her in an instant without a trace. Her prior experiences with Lucius had taught her what he was capable of.

A cold, cruel voice floated to the surface of her mind, speaking beside her ear ghostly.

_"I'll be back."_

Hermione felt the temperature in her bedroom dropping suddenly. She curled into a ball under the covers.

But she shouldn't be afraid! What more could do to her than what he had already done? He had already _taken _her virginity… What else could he do to hurt her even more?

After a long, peaceful sleep which seemed to have lasted for ages, Lucius woke up to find the bright sunlight shining full force into his master bedroom. Feeling more energetic than the day before, he crawled out of his king-size, four-poster bed. Then he walked to the large window clad only in a pair of slacks and looked outside. Under the light-blue sky, the thin grass was glinting under the bright sun. The air was cold but no longer frozen. He could hear some unnamed birds singing cheerily.

He must have been asleep for almost a whole day!

He felt good. It felt like it had been an eternity since the last time he felt this way. Maybe it had even been ages ago. Opening the window, he inhaled deeply, savoring the fresh air with the scent of grass, water and wood. Then he turned back, he smelt a very, slight but distinct scent of orchid…and blood.

His eyes fell upon the ebony floor: those house elves forgot to remove the sheet! Those sheets tainted with _that mudblood's_ blood upon them!

He frowned his eyebrows, but quickly his lips curled into a smug smile: he _had_ gained his revenge. Uncontrollably his thoughts drifted back to this early morning, when _that_ girl had struggled and screamed underneath him. He remembered the feeling of _her _warm blood trickling down his thighs, _her _warm tears wetting his face, _her _warm flesh meeting his cold skin. After that her body just became colder, and colder. When he then had grasped her wrist to pull her to the fireplace, her skin had felt as cold as ice.

"This should be enough hurt for her" he had thought. When he had pulled her, she had felt like a rag-doll and all her strength had been drained off. He could still remember her shudder under his fingertips. "I really have _taken _her. Her virginity is the one thing she can never get back." he smirked thoughtfully. This was better than killing her. If he killed her, she would still have all honor and integrity, her martyrdom gaining her even more so, and he would rot in Azkaban. But this way he made her feel as if she had betrayed her dead friends. She even did not dare to tell anyone, for her stubborn, silly Gryffindor heart would not allow her to do so. What would she do after such a horrible encounter? She might even go as far as taking her own life.

He dressed himself fully, and summoned a bottle of wine. This time he didn't need firewhiskey to dull his sadness and shame. No, this time there was no cause for such depressing feelings. This time he felt nothing but joy and satisfaction from his successful revenge. And wine was exactly what he needed right now to celebrate this victory.

"Maybe I have already taken revenge on her even before this …" a sudden thought ascended to the forefront of his mind, as he recalled his war criminal trial. Hermione's face had lost all its colors as soon as the Wizengamot had proclaimed her witness statement to prove his numerous accounts of ruthless deeds to be insufficient. According to a silly law made by the late Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt, the cold breath and scent of cypress and muskiness was not acceptable as valid evidence. Since he cunningly had avoided exposing his face and skillfully acted in complete silence during each battle, there was no physical evidence connecting him to anything. As a result the court had ruled in his favor.

He thus was able to keep his grand manor and his considerable properties and wealth. He just had felt it necessary to use some of his funds for some well targeted donations to all the right charities to "rehabilitate" his reputation and societal standing. His family business, however, had profited greatly from the ongoing large-scale rebuilding of the wizarding world, which had more than compensated for the lost funds from the donations. And that, Lucius thought with a very satisfied smirk, meant he had in a way, though only financially, even benefitted from that stupid war.

All would have been so perfect, if only his wife and son could be here to share his good fortune!

Overwhelmed by the sudden onslaught of recurring grief and pain he slammed the crystal goblet onto the table.

This Sunday he would visit his family' graves to tell them about his revenge.

Now he had to ask his elves to remove _that _sheet and cleanse the air. He really hadn't thought _her_ scent would linger here that long.


	3. Chapter 3 Andromeda's story

**Thank you my dear beta reader Crumplette for your brilliant work!**

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Chapter Three Andromeda's story

This Sunday morning Hermione went to visit her godson Teddy Lupin. Little Teddy had lost his parents Remus Lupin and Tonks during the war, and Tonks' mother Andromeda had taken over guardianship for little Teddy. Harry had promised to be his godfather, but after Harry's death Hermione had to shoulder this responsibility. And she did it gladly. Teddy was sweet little boy, and had inherited his father's gentle brown eyes, and his mother's metamorphagus capabilities, which allowed him to adjust his hair color to his mood accordingly.

When Hermione arrived through the floo at their fireplace, she saw little Teddy's hair color immediately changing to a vibrant purple which meant he was happy to see her. Then Teddy ran with open arms towards Hermione, bumped into her and wrapped his small arms around her knees happily. She bent down, gave him a big hug and lifted him up, turning to face Mrs. Tonks.

"Good morning, Mrs. Tonks." said Hermione, a little self-consciously. Although it was not her who had killed Narcissa Malfoy, she always felt slightly guilty when facing Andromeda. After all, Narcissa had been her sister.

"Nice to see you again, Hermione. Hey, Teddy! Give Auntie Hermione some space so she can properly step into our living room. Look at all the toys she brought for you!" with a smile Andromeda gently relieved Hermione's legs from the two vice-like little toddler arms clenching her knee. Then she helped Hermione to put down her bags and led her to the kitchen. "Are you all right, dear? You look so tired. You are working overtime again, aren't you? Even a young lady as yourself should not work as much as you do."

Hermione saw the concern in the older witch's eyes. "I'm all right" she assured Andromeda. "I don't even don't work. I just study."

"I know you can deal with it. But don't tire yourself too much. Here, have some of my hot chocolate. It warms you up, and should give your face a little color again." Mrs. Tonks said gently, and gave her a cup with that hot, steaming, almost creamy liquid with a rich chocolate scent.

Hermione held the mug to her lips. Hmmm, in general she didn't love hot chocolate, apart from Andromeda's. The older witch had over time developed her own recipe. The hot beverage filled her with comfort and strength.

She knew she had to tell Andromeda, but she did not know how to word it. At last, she whispered softly: "Bellatrix Lestrange will receive her Dementor kiss next Wednesday."

Mrs. Tonks put down her mug, turned around and walked to the window. After an awkward silence, she said slowly: "I know, as her only still living sister, I am obliged to go to Azkaban to see her one last time before her death sentence is executed."

"I wasn't implying that…"said Hermione hastily.

"Since my sister Bellatrix signed up with Voldemort she never had any wish to see me. Even before that, we were no longer close. Whatever there was to say between us has been said a long time ago, and nothing has changed. There is no reason for me to go see her, as she also will for sure not want to see me at all. So no, I won't go." she stood up, straightened herself visibly.

Hermione bit her lower lip lightly. Andromeda had never told her about her relationship with her older sister Bellatrix.

"Actually I knew she would end up like this, one way or another. I always knew. She always chose the wrong men to follow." Her voice sounded soft, and lower somewhat. She took in a deep breath and continued: "Everyone thought I was the first and only daughter running away from the Black family home. But I wasn't. That was Bella."

"What?" Hermione couldn't believe what she had just heard.

"Bella ran off with Rodolphus Lestrange when she was only 19. This was a scandal to both families. But fortunately Lestrange was a pureblood, and his family was very rich and prestigious. In fact, Bella's choice of husband had been among the few candidates considered by our parents for betrothal for Bella. So both families covered up this disgrace, and instead officially proclaimed to the public that a marriage contract had been arranged for Bellatrix Black and Rodolphus Lestrange."

(Author's Notes: Lestrange will play a crucial role in the end.)

"Oh, I hadn't known this before…." said Hermione quietly.

"We Black children always dreamed to leave home. You know Sirius ran away following in my footsteps. But Regulus also left home, even before finishing his studies in Hogwarts. As for Cissy, she was married into the Malfoy family right after her graduation from Hogwarts." Mrs Tonks said, rifling through her memories.

Hermione nodded slowly. She could never forget Black Manor, that black, damp, musty big house. She could imagine how the young people must have lived a silent and depressive life in it.

"It was Lestrange who brought Bella to Voldemort. The Dark Lord's cruelty and violence was just right to Bella's taste. When we grew up, she had been a fiery and dominant elder sister. But… she shouldn't have been that evil…" Mrs. Tonks wiped her eyes. "Too emotional, aren't I? Disturbing a young lady with these old stories…I should have told you earlier" her voice became serious, "Hermione, I am always grateful to you. Not for myself, but for the Black family. It is you who helped restore Sirius's and Regulus' reputation. You even convinced the government to honor them postmortem with a medal… As for Cissy, I never blamed you…or Ron…It was Voldemort… It was the war…"

"That was Kingsley's decision. I just did what I could." smiled Hermione shyly. "Kreacher loves the medals so much. He polishes them every day."

"You don't have to be so modest. I know you are a good girl." Mrs. Tonks gave out a long, deep sigh: "This was something I always wanted to get off my chest since decades… I have never told anybody about this before… Maybe now the time has come to miss my sisters and mourn them, after so many years."

In the afternoon Hermione went to the graveyard. It had been her routine: Saturday afternoon, Ginny; Sunday morning, Teddy and Mrs. Tonks; Sunday afternoon, the graveyard.

She solemnly walked along the tombstone, observed the exquisite carved phoenix pattern on the stones, and ran her fingertips over the names: the Weasleys were smiling to her in the photo on the gravestone, among them _her _Ron was staring at her intensely; Harry was smiling to her on his broom; Sirius, beaming, his face looked younger and brighter; face-to-face with Sirius, Regulus looked at his brother coldly; Lupin was kissing Tonks while Tonks kissing their little son Teddy…When she faced the newest tomb, Luna Lovegood next to Neville Longbottom, Hermione couldn't suppress her tears any longer.

After Ron's funeral, Luna moved over to a weeping Hermione and put a hand on her shoulder.

"Hermione, I have loved Ron."

"Why are you telling me this now?"

"I think it might be better to have somebody at your side who happens to like the same boy to remember him with you."

"Mmm…"

"I just loved him for a moment, the moment he wanted to punish Goyle to write lines. Ron was very funny, but only in your presence. So in that one moment I was taken in by his vibrance, and funny demeanor. Then I found Neville. He loved rare plants, while I love rare creatures which are so rare that they 'not really exist at all' as you guys always remind me. Neville and I fell in love, but we only had just that one night before the final battle to be together."

Hermione forced a pale smile: "None of us really got a chance to get to know Neville well. It is an awkward thought you know…Cunning Neville…"

Luna smiled lightly: "I know Neville was very clever, and I am a Ravenclaw."

Hermione's smile faded slowly: "The final war…"

"He's dead now. At last we really _had been together_. People always die. But at that time, that place, it happened to be him."

Luna's words made her sob again. Gently Luna put a handkerchief in her hand.

"What are you crying for, Hermione?" she said seriously. "Ron died, but he didn't leave you."

Hermione turned to see Luna, whose lips quivered, but her eyes were twinkling oddly. Somehow Hermione felt scared: Luna suddenly felt so far away from her, one thousand miles away.

"Neville never left me. I can't see him, can't hear him, but I can _feel _him, he is beside me and that's enough." turning around Luna gave Hermione a far-too-bright smile, "we have a stronger bond than others. Hermione, one day I will see him again, I'm sure."

The next day Luna set out to travel around the world—one thing she had planned to do with Neville, and she didn't want to cancel, but do the journey for him. Three month later she was hurt by a Crumple-Horned Snorkack and found pregnant. Nine months later she gave birth to Neville's daughter, Daphne and died from dystocia.

Hermione looked at the other zone of the graveyard though there wasn't any visible boundary between zones. The martyrs of the Light lay at one end of the graveyard, while the dead Death Eaters were buried at the other end of the graveyard.

What a talented design. Hermione thought. One graveyard. One side Light, the other side Dark. Between Dark and Light there was an expansive grey area where the two were mixed together in a subtle fashion.

Involuntarily Hermione walked into that grey section between Light and Dark, where she found the gravestones of Narcissa and Draco Malfoy.

It must have cost Lucius Malfoy great efforts to be able to bury his family in the Grey. After all as the Dark Lord's right hand man his family should by all means of logic have been buried among the other Death Eaters. Somehow, however, he had managed to avoid that shame for his wife and his son, and so they lay side by side buried peacefully in the Grey.

She stared at their gravestones. It had been for them… just for them, that Lucius had hurt her in the most painful way!

She lifted her hand in pain. Oh how she longed to reach out and smash their ornately carved gravestones!

_"It was Voldemort… It was the war…" _Andromeda's words rang through her brain, causing her to lower her hand again with a deep sigh.

Deep inside her mind she then admitted it to herself. Deep down inside she did _feel _guilty. Maybe that was the real reason why she wasn't able to make herself fight against Malfoy until the very last moment.

Draco Malfoy was the first human being she had ever murdered in her whole life.

She still remembered that day when Draco stood in front of her, his face as pale as ash. Hermione saw the fear in his eyes. However, the next second he lifted his wand and shouted the killing curse at her "Avada Kedavra!". She was able to dodge it, and retorted with a simple stunning curse, however was really surprised to see the fierce impact that curse had on her school nemesis. A stunning curse normally just stunned its recipient, and they woke up again after it had worn off. Not this time. With horror she watched incredulously as the life in Draco Malfoy's eyes extinguished.

Her mission was to capture Draco alive, and bring him to the headquarter of the Order of the Phoenix to interrogate him about Voldemort. It was important to get him alive, and not to kill him. Although she really had no idea why he actually had died of her mere stunning curse, she did feel guilty for his death. Even Mad Eye Moody, the fiercest auror in the Order, seldomly killed anyone unless necessary.

As for Narcissa…She recalled when Ron had told her in private that he was very confused why a simple Stinging Curse had killed Narcissa. There was no way such a curse should have been able to kill a human.

A breeze caressed Hermione lustrous hair. After the war her hair somehow had become softer. (Author's Notes: in Chinese traditional medicine, the softer a woman's hair is, the gentler her temperament is. This is a foreshadowing about Hermione's character after the war.)

Out of nowhere she placed a hand on Narcissa's gravestone.

"Your sister Andromeda says she misses you; your eldest sister Bellatrix is about to receive her Dementor kiss."

Pulling two white lilies out of the bouquet she had prepared for her friends, she put one on Narcissa's gravestone, the other on Draco's.

Lucius Malfoy stood behind a high monument, watching _that _girl in front of his wife's and son's graves.

Her saw her hand rising as if in anger, then stopping in its motion, and then gently touching his wife's gravestone. She said something and placed a lily on each of their gravestones.

After she left, Lucius moved out of the shade and watched her in confusion. Why had _that _girl come here? Yes she came to see her friends. But why did she bother to visit the graves of his family as well? It made no sense! Unless she had some unknown ulterior motives. In Lucius Malfoy's mind people's actions were driven solely by personal gain. He would never believe a person could do something just out of simple kindness. What did she say when she stood in front of his wife's grave? Why she did place the lilies which she surely had purchased with only her friends in mind on the graves of his family, her enemies?

Then he remembered the movement of her hand: she had risen her hand as if she initially had meant to beat their gravestones. Lucius Malfoy felt rage rose from his heart. How dare she beat the Malfoys' gravestones? She didn't deserve to put her filthy hands filled with that tainted blood of hers on their gravestones at all! Even worse, she was still alive where his family was dead and gone forever! Part of Lucius thought she would kill herself as soon as she returned home.

Lucius noticed her face looked pale but tough, and her eyes shone brightly. Her head was held low, but her back was straight. He couldn't see even a hint of the brokenness and despair he expected. She looked still young, healthy, even…pretty? In fact in _that _early morning he had vaguely noticed that girl had a nicely shaped body, petite and luscious, but not skinny, and exquisite features. She also had long, lustrous brown hair. He could even recall the silky feeling of her creamy skin under his fingertips. She was such a…sweet girl? But after _their _activities she wasn't a girl anymore. She was now a young woman…

"Stop!" Lucius Malfoy shouted to himself firmly, finding his thought unconsciously drifting to the unknown and uncertain world. He _only _had done it to punish and humiliate _that _girl. He _didn't _care how he achieved that goal. His intention _could not _be to enjoy her! Enraged by _that _girl—no, woman, Lucius turned on his heels and strode away. _That _girl needed some more lessons.


	4. Chapter 4 Surprise and Worry

All best wishes to my beta-reader **Crumplette** for her brilliant beta skills!

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Chapter Four Surprise and Worry

The following weekdays found Hermione at home studying her healer's lessons hard and concentrated. Expect for Tuesday: Hermione went to Azkaban to bring some sweets of Honeydukes' to Bellatrix Lestrange. They were from Mrs. Tonks: she said those were they Black sisters' favourite sweets—before they left home forever.

Quickly the Friday evening came. Hermione now found she could sleep a little more peacefully. Tomorrow morning she would go to the Burrow to gather some clothes for Ginny.

The next morning Hermione stood in front of the Burrow, which felt so familiar but so unfamiliar at the same time. Those bizarre lofts and winds bulged on the wall in odd direction as it used to be, but the Burrow had obviously grown old in only one year, like a feeble old guy abandon by children and grandchildren. Those wild, sheared plants in the garden only enhanced the loneliness and gloominess. She opened the gate and walked in. she went upstairs to collect the clothes for Ginny, finding that thin dust on the handrail: just one month before she cleaned up it; d esert could do so much for a house. After that she returned to the kitchen and decided to have a rest. She filled the pot with water, set it on fire with magic. She pulled out a chair under the table and sat down, waiting for the water to boil.

Everything in the house was covered by thin dust, but the house looked still tidy. It might have been so tidy, looking like the picture on a furniture store poster about "a perfect home". But what lacked was just the warm and delicious atmosphere in a happy home. Hermione watched the dust dancing in the bright sunshine through the window, and her memory floated to the surface like the dust: the Burrow used not to be like this. It was always untidy but warm with the scent of hot food. Somehow she remembered Mrs. Weasley's family dinner: every child tried his best to get more food, including Harry and her. One day her hand and Ron's happened to put on the last cheese and tomato sandwich. She looked up and saw Ron's bright blue eyes. They stared at each other for a moment, and Ron's hand left the sandwich and took a can-beef sandwich.

The water was boiling. Pulled out of her memory Hermione ran to put out the fire. Slowly she sipped her tear-tasted tea until nothing was left, and escaped.

In the afternoon Hermione went to St. Mungo.

"Hi, Ginny, how are you? I'm Hermione."said Hermione gently. She quietly move to Ginny, who was sitting on a chair and stared out of the window blankly. She said nothing.

"I bring you some gowns and dresses. All you favourites." Hermione cradled Ginny into her arms and gently put her onto the bed. Delightfully she found that Ginny got a little heavier: she used to be as light as a dead leaf. After changing Ginny into a light green dress with lace, Hermione began to comb for Ginny, their routine. She put a peach-wood comb into Ginny's hair, softly through her hair, and then gathered them into a neat braid. During the routine she had been observe Ginny's face.

Ginny's eyelids fluttered.

Hermione's heart skipped a beat. _Did she realize me?_

Tentatively Hermione covered Ginny's hand and squeezed it softly.

Ginny's hand quivered.

Hermione cupped Ginny's cheek in her hand gently.

Ginny tilted her head into Hermione's touch. She half-turned to Hermione, her lips curled imperceptibly, giving her a ghostly smile.

Hermione's heart ran wildly with joy. _At least she can feel me! Soon she will remember my name! _

The next day ran in bright colors and shades: having tea with Mrs. Tonks; playing with Tiny Teddy("I can become lemon, copper, and rabbit!" shrieked Teddy. Now each time he learned a new word, he would change his hair into the corresponding color.). She went to the graveyard as usual. This time she also visited the Malfoys' graves.("Mrs. Malfoy, do you know? Your husband seems to very love you." sighed Hermione bitterly.)  
After leaving the graveyard, Hermione went to the Diagon Alley. In April came Teddy's four-year-old birthday. Hermione thought a silver talisman would be the best present.

She stood outside a jewellery shop, watched its display through the large window. Like most of girls and women, Hermione liked jewels, liked appreciating them on display though the window.

She paid her attention to those exquisite engagement and marriage rings. Obsessively she ran her look through them fondly, like her look could caress them.

"Want one, don't you? Tsk, tsk, but I'm afraid there is no boy or man lucky enough to have the honor to give it to you." whispered an all too familiar voice.

Hermione cringed slightly. Hesitated she lifted her gaze to look at the glass, where the Lucius Malfoy's reflection towered hers and his face with the infamous sneer was just inches from her ear.

"How… how dare you walk outside?" whispered Hermione, half out of fear, and half out of anger.

"There is a community of freedom, Miss Granger, and I'm a free citizen. Of course I can walk outside freely like you… Even everywhere I like…" he gave her an ice-like blow. As cold as the _last _time.

"How dare you! Aren't you afraid I tell your…_crime _to anyone else?" Hermione hissed. Her voice sounded even not like her own.

" Seems you hasn't leak a little…Er, what if that Weasley girl know our _activities_? No, she wouldn't… Don't worry, I will never disturb her, Miss Granger. I think just your Gryffindor soul is able to keep you silent forever. And don't you remember my words? '_You can let the wizard world know so they can pity you_' I don't think the "Gryffindor Princess" needs pity. A big, bad Slytherin isn't worth it, right? And he is just a husband and father who avenged the murderer for his wife and son."

Now Hermione were really shaking. Lucius sneered in satisfaction. No matter what justice the Wizenagmot declared, people still fear him, if not more. Everyone on the street kept distance from him. So now he and Hermione were deserted sort of.

Seeing Hermione couldn't respond, he drawled mockingly:" May I buy a ring for you? It will be a long, long time before you got you own…maybe never…After all I am the first man who has the honour to deflower you, my little girl. Oh, I forget, you have been a woman, because of me."

He put a finger on Hermione's neck, ran it through her spine slowly, relishing her delicious shudder, and brush her hair aside. Hermione felt his lips fall onto her neck and leave before she could cry out. She trembled. It was not a kiss. He was claiming that he could claim her even in public.

Hermione seems had lost her voice. Lucius sneered, stood straight and held her hair." I won't give you a ring. You don't deserve it. But I should give you something else…"

Hermione felt something long, thin and cold wrap her neck. Looking down she found it was a silver necklace with ivy and serpent pattern. Under the necklace was an emerald drop pendant, which was a whole emerald drop-pendant. Slender, pale fingers pinched the emerald and Hermione saw an "M" glinted for a split second before it faded.

"It fits you very much." the fingers were removed and she heard footstep, knowing he left.

Roughly Hermione pulled it, wanting to throw it away. But it was too strong, and she couldn't find the clasp. Out of nowhere she slipped the necklace under her collar, like something stolen.


	5. Chapter 5 I say NO!

**Thanks to my kind and skilled beta-reader Cumplette.

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Chapter Five "I say NO!"

After returning home Hermione tried to take off the necklace, but nothing she tried worked. The necklace had no clasp to open it, and the delicate silver chain stubbornly withstood all her desperate attempts to rip it apart. She did not want to have something on her body that belonged to Lucius Malfoy. Absent-mindedly Hermione touched the pendant, not thinking anything would happen.

Casually she took a bath and dried herself with a towel: sometimes she enjoyed the leisure muggle process. However, as soon as she opened the door to her bedroom, she suddenly sensed a strange feeling jolting through her body. Her legs trembled, and she broke down, lightly falling onto the carpet.

All she could hear was the familiar chuckle._ Lucius Malfoy was in her home!_ "I said _I'll be back_" he drawled lazily. Hermione felt herself being turned upside down, the next second she saw him leaning in the doorframe to her bedroom, with the ebony walking-stick in one of his gloved hands, and his infamous snake-top wand in the other. Now he was closing the curtain and bathroom door with his wand.

How had he been able to enter her apartment? How had he managed to break through her wards? She had set up wards to keep unwanted visitors out, and her place had been quite secure all the time since she moved in. And she still had not bought a new wand! Somehow with the miracle of Ginny waking up she hadn't even thought about replacing her broken wand. Now Malfoy was here in her flat, and her old wand wasn't here anymore! She sighed to herself.

'_Y__ou are a witch, Granger!'_ she chastised herself in her mind. '_Think of something!'_

"I just didn't know you are so shameless, Malfoy, and come be back so soon." she said coldly.

Malfoy simply waved his wand. Hermione felt magic wrapping around herself, picking her up from the floor, and throwing her onto her bed. Hermione gasped from the contact.

"A bright witch like you should know that our encounter this afternoon means something. I must say you disappoint me, Miss Granger."

Humiliation and rage rose inside her. "Do you have any idea what you are doing, Malfoy?" shouted Hermione. This time she was determined to not to show weakness. "The situation is different now. This time you won't be able to take advantage of me being unconscious, or of me being confused by an unfamiliar environment."

Lucius raised an eyebrow.

"I underestimated you… or… rather overestimated you." he drawled. "I had thought the noble Gryffindor Mudblood Princess would rather die in glory than live in shame."

Hermione had never thought someone could be so unreasonable. "What do you want? What else can you do to me, Malfoy? You don't even dare to kill me, because all you know is to save your own skin!" Hermione hoped she sounded braver than she felt. In fact she felt dreadful. She knew Malfoy was dangerous, more dangerous than she had expected. She didn't know what would push him over the edge. Luckily her bedroom was dim and she hoped he couldn't see her face. "Rape me again? This time I can't promise I'll be quiet. For sure I will go and tell my friends about it. Do you think I won't take revenge on you for my shame? And this time… you cannot even make me hurt like you did the _last _time!"

He wasn't affected by her words. Instead his lips curled into a wicked smirk

He said coldly, "Never underestimate the ability of a superior such as myself to cause _pain_."

He pressed the snake-head on the collar of her night-slip。Through the thin material, Hermione felt the snake-teeth digging into her flesh. Magic rushed out from the teeth, spread over her skin, and shaved her skin. The painful sensation made Hermione bite her lip.

"You… you beast!" shouted Hermione as soon as the sensation died down, hoping her voice wouldn't quiver as much as she felt. Malfoy, instead, just pointed his wand at her, and whispered something. Her night-slip inflated like a sail, and exploded.

Immediately Hermione began to curl herself into a tight ball. Impatiently, Malfoy walked forward, grasped her wrists in one hand, put his other hand on her knees and roughly pressed down. Hermione was forced to be unfolded like a pile of silk. In her life, she had never been in such a humble position: her throat was exposed to Malfoy, like prey in a trap.

She glared in fierce rage at Malfoy who was still clad in his usual regal. _At last he hadn't removed his clothes._ Hermione thought she would go insane.

Malfoy seduced her ankles and wrists with magic. Once again she felt the sensation of the hardness of his wand caressing her skin. Lucius Malfoy's wand traced gently over her skin, and she could feel her skin turn tender. _He is looking for the weakest point to hurt_. Hermione bit her lip harder. However, when the tip of his wand brushed a random point just under her breast, Hermione couldn't help hissing, not entirely out of pain.

Malfoy stopped his invasion, and looked up to her face, his eyes twinkling. He turned to observe her blushing skin for a moment. To her shock, he removed his glove.

Holding a breath, Hermione watched him replace his wand with his bare hand. His thumb brushed her skin, soft as a feather. Instinctively Hermione straightened herself to appear as rigid as a board.

Malfoy's eyes twinkled more oddly, and a ghost of a smirk touched his lips.

"Such an interesting mudblood…" he murmured.

His bare hand began to roam across her body. Without the cold, smooth leather now Hermione could easily feel the rough touch of the large, strong, masculine hand. Humiliation and anger exploded inside her, underneath her skin, when goose bumps from a sensation clearly other than terror appeared underneath his calloused hands. She felt searing fire of rage burning inside her. She wished she could really burn like a flame, and incinerate the shameless, dangerous Death Eater into ash.

But she was trembling, not out of anger, but out of fear. The coldness of fear and the burning of anger met under her skin, clashing with each other. Her body was trembling in the resulting shock wave.

"Such a surprising mudblood…" Not until then did she realize Malfoy's lips against her ears.

Hermione couldn't help shaking from his closeness. She heard Malfoy laughing cruelly.

"You are a filthy mudblood, Miss Granger. Filthier than I thought"

He undid his watch, and threw it across the room.

"_Then," he drawled, "Why don't you do something that filth such as yourself deserves?_"

Hermione felt her knees being pressed deep into the mattress. Malfoy was kneeling on her knees and bending her down, his teeth nibbling on her collarbone, his robe gritting her skin. He had removed the other glove and now his newly bared hand had joined the other one in its carefully sensuous ministrations.

"So dirty… but so clean." She felt his laugher tingling in her ears. "If you want more, I'll order you to beg me like the filthy mudblood that you are. Don't worry, Miss Granger, I'll permit you to beg me."

His laughter was so chilling. But Hermione felt herself burning, from humiliation, hatred, rage, and something she didn't even dare to analyze.

"No." she bit her lip hard, hissed. _Who do you think I am? And who do you think you are?_ "You can be honest with me." he muttered, kissing her throat.

"No…"She said through her teeth. Shaking herself hard, she tried to rock him away from her.

"_**Tell me the truth**_**!**" he licked her ear.

"I said _**NO**_!" Hermione screamed. She didn't know how she had gathered so much strength suddenly. Like a fish flipping on dry ground, with all strength she had, she arched up fiercely and immediately swung around.

Malfoy was nearly thrown away from her. After momentary separation, his body crashed into hers with twice the impact, and nearly forced all air out of her lung. Hermione coughed, trying to get new air as much as possible, not noticing that Malfoy let go of her neck and looked up at her, with a surprised glimpse in his eyes.

Hermione felt Malfoy leaving her body, getting out of the bed, and pulling up to stand to his full height, his face showing an unreadable expression. Summoning his cloak, He shot her a meaningful look, and with a _pop_, he disapparated.

Hermione quickly sat up and clutched her knees tightly. With a pang of embarrassment she sensed that her body was covered in sweat. She couldn't believe she forgot to get a new wand as soon as possible. As an Order member who survived the Second War, how could she be so naïve to let a Death Eather invade her house, let alone do something…like this to her. Uncomfortably Hermione hugged herself, the terrible warmth caused by his hand was still lingering along her limbs.

She wasn't an experienced woman. In all the 22 years of her life she only had kissed a few times. Although she wasn't a virgin anymore, the _last _time Lucius Malfoy had only focused on letting her feel _agony_. She had yet no knowledge of the power of _lust_. Lucius's gentle ministrations today had made Hermione feel her blood beginning to boil, and her heartbeat run faster. Somehow his hands weren't quite as cold today as they had been last time. His hand had sent a warm sensation through Hermione's body: warm as the sunshine in March, so warming, so comfortable that you didn't want to move away from it. It even… felt sort of like the sensation when Ron had kissed her.

"Clap!" Hermione's hand flung onto her own cheek and left a clear handprint. _How can you be so stupid, Hermione Granger? How can you compare Ron with that shameless bastard? And how dare you feel the same sensation with him as with what Ron had given you?_

Once again, she curled herself into a tight ball. Her body was quivering in hatred and shame. '_Tomorrow I must buy a new wand. Malfoy will no longer surprise me when I am unable to defend myself properly_.' She said to herself.

Lucius sat in his study, gazing into the darkness with a sherry in his hand.

He had planned to do this since several days now, but the reactions he encountered from her were … to say the least … quite unexpected. Not enjoyable, though.

He had been watching the girl. At least on outward appearance she seemed to show no grief or desperation. She even seemed to be brisk and hopeful. His original intention had been to break her, to make her feel so humiliated that everybody who looked at her immediately saw that she had been _taken_. But the girl was much stronger than he had anticipated. What he had seen tonight had not been the same weak girl who collapsed underneath him on _that particular _morning. It seemed as if the war and being _taken _by her most hated enemy hadn't broken her entirely. She must have found her strength again somewhere.

Lucius snorted. The girl seemed to think his son's and his wife's deaths weren't her fault. Such a damn Gryffindor. Once she was convinced that she was right about something, a Gryffindor could even live on nothing but mud. He had expected her to kill herself to have an honorable death rather than having to live through each day with the shame of having been _taken_. But he had been mistaken. Now it looked like she definitely would not attempt to take her life before she had told anybody what he had done to her.

But no, Lucius was sure she wouldn't tell anyone. Neither would he.

Lucius frowned. His _taken _plan suddenly seemed no longer so flawless…

He wanted to see her in pain. But he found the act of _taking_ her hadn't resulted in that intense pain deep down in her heart which he had aimed for. Pain that didn't shatter her meant nothing to him.

He had decided that this time he would make her feel ashamed. Making her enjoy the humiliating act of being _taken_ surely would make her hate herself more than anything else in the world.

At first everything seemed to go as he expected. When he probed her body to look for her weakness, he could feel her tremble through his wand. In the dim light, her eyes were glimmering, reflecting fear, but her lithe flesh was blushing in both lust and hatred.

But just when he thought he would get the satisfying result of her giving in to his power, he heard the girl say _No._

Three times! Each 'No' firmer than the one before. A helpless doe had turned out to be a trapped lioness.

At that time Lucius had been utterly astonished. Power combined with fear was a strong softening ointment, softening up someone's willpower like butter in the sun. Add some delicious, poisonous seduction and it will make the best aphrodisiac. As a woman, Lucius thought, even she could not resist sensual, sexual seduction, she would collapse in fear and power. In this field Lucius believed he had sufficient experience. At the beginning Hermione's reaction had been as he expected. How then, he mused to himself, was she able to pull herself together at the last moment?

Lucius Malfoy had always been proud of his considerable charm. Women either adored his good-looks, admired his intelligence, were lured by his wealth, or did succumb to his power and aristocratic heritage. He knew many women were dreaming of sharing his bed. No matter whether he shared their affections or not, he enjoyed the flattery and attention very much, and was proud of it. After all, he was a Malfoy; and as a Malfoy he was born to attract attention, wealth and power.

_Such a haughty little mudblood. _Lucius smirked at his thought. _She is nothing but a little mudblood, so what can you expect of her? _

Despite realizing Hermione's low birth did not warrant any expectations he felt angry about it.

Lucius poured the soothing liquid into his throat. Setting down the goblet, he felt the smooth, cool touch of the crystal. Her skin felt smooth and cool as well.

No, not like this. Her skin felt like silk, soft and smooth. It must have been because she had just taken a bath.

_A mudblood murderer shouldn't have such silky skin._ Lucius didn't know why that idea upset him. However, as soon as he recalled her skin, he couldn't help recall the rest of her delicious body. Now closing his eyes he could easily remember that morning: she had been so sweet, so warm and so…tight, although that morning he had done everything he could to humiliate her. And when he told her "_Oh, you're so tight. It feels good"_ it had not been a lie.

He hadn't had a good sex life since before the war. During the war he seldom had engaged in sex, for everything was so dangerous, desperate and tense. And after the war… his bed had been vacant, except for _that _morning.

He shouldn't have been upset by it. Hermione had been simply his first and only woman since such a long time. And he was a healthy man. What was wrong with that?

But why was it her? Such a young, naïve, and filthy mudblood! And she was a murderer! The murderer who killed his wife and son!

"Your wife wasn't killed by her. " a very annoying voice whispered in his mind.

"_But she killed my son, and her boyfriend killed my wife! All the same_."in his mind Lucius said to the voice.

"_But don't you feel it suspicious? Such a weak mudblood can kill a pure-blood Malfoy?_"

_Sounds like that_. Lucius thought. He knew Draco was a gifted wizard. However, another unwelcome idea occurred to him and Lucius uneasily recalled that Draco wasn't the first one in his class, being beat by the same mudblood.

"Academic scores aren't everything."he said to the voice, while feeling it sounded bizarre.

"_Then why you didn't kill her_?"

"She is a worthless mudblood. I don't want to taint my hand. And I have better ways to torture her."

_"Really?"_the voice smirked."

_Shut up! Damn!"_ suddenly he exploded with anger and howled into the air. Heavily he slammed his fist onto the table. The sherry goblet rocked and lightly and liquid splashed on the table.


	6. Chapter 6 Others was moving on,but I…

**Best wishes to my brilliant beta-reader Cumplette!

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**

Chapter Six Others were moving on, but I…

The next morning Hermione got up early and went to Ollivander's. **As soon as she stepped into the quaint shop, she saw the excellent wand maker's figure standing among dusty boxes. He looked bonier than the last time she saw him, but rather healthy.** She thought it was really a miracle that the bony and weak old man did survive Voldemort's imprisonment.

"Good morning, Mr. Ollivander."

He turned around to face her, and smiled. Surrounded by saggy skin, His pale eyes twinkled kindly at her. "Oh, Miss Granger, nice to see you again." Without pause he started talking endlessly. "It has been a long time since I have seen you last time. It seems just like yesterday when you bought your first wand, which…"

"9 inches, grapevine, with the heartstring of a dragon." continued Hermione.

"You always have a good memory, Miss Granger." admired Mr. Ollivander, who had nimbly pulled out a variety of rulers to measure her. "**You must be coming to get a new wand. It looks like your old wand no longer matches your magic abilities. After all**,** you are no longer eleven-year-old." **His eyes seemed to become a little bit misty. "**Giving up an old wand is like giving up an old friend**…" Hermione couldn't stop her quiver, but luckily Mr. Ollivander just continued rambling on insouciantly, and ignored her.

"Let me see…" at last he let go of her, walked away and searched among thousands of boxes. "Try this one." he carefully pulled out a box and handed it to her, "10 inches, cherry, with a unicorn hair."

Hermione held the wand tightly and said: "Orchideous!" she felt magic bumping through her system, but the magical stream did not feel smooth, and only few petals was sprayed out of the end of the wand, which frustrated her. "Why I can't buy the same type of wand again?"

"Every wand is unique, and human beings do change over time. To some degree even after only one day people are already not the same anymore than they were before, though that would be only a microscopic change. But after let's say 10 years these microscopic changes have added up to a change large enough for a person to need a new wand." Mr. Ollivander said. Then he shook his head: "Oh, I don't think this wand fits you well, Miss Granger, let me get another one for you."

The following one hour Hermione waved wand after wand, and Mr. Ollivander always shook his head, and gave her another one to try. Then, finally, they found the right one.

"Wonderful combination: 9 and 3/4 inches, willow, and a phoenix feather." commented Mr. Ollivander, placed Hermione's new wand back into its box, then wrapped it up with purple paper.

"I thought you were going to retire, Mr. Ollivander." said Hermione curiously.

"Yes, I do want to retire, but at first I have to train my successor." smiled Mr. Ollivander.

"I didn't know you have a son, sorry." she said, knowing in magic world most of magic arts were passed from generation to generation within families.

"No, it's my apprentice." Mr. Ollivander gestured to her. "I can't risk breaking the line of wand making at my hand just because I have no sons."

In surprise Hermione followed his hand, and found a young man in an old-fashion grey robe. It was Ernie McMillan walking up to her. His eyes looked intelligent, and he seemed as smart and nimble-minded as he was back in Hogwarts.

She shouted excitedly: "Ernie! I thought you would return to Hogwarts to teach Magical History!" she moved forward and held his hands. "I heard that Professor Binns finally decided to resign his teaching position and write a history concerning the Second War."

"Seamus took that job. I decided I much rather put my mind and hands to good use and learn the ancient and delicate art of wand making." Ernie told her and grinned. "I like it a lot, and the shop isn't very far from my home."

Hearing the last words, an idea suddenly occurred to her, and she waved at him lively: "It's wonderful that now you have your **own** home! Tell me, how long have you been with Hannah?"

Immediately she noticed that a shade of red started to brush over Ernie's cheeks. He shrugged shyly: "Err, has she told you?"

"If it hasn't rolled off her tongue yet, how much longer will you two wait before you'll announce your joy?" said Hermione gently, "You should share it with all of us"

Ernie grinned awkwardly: "We have both agreed it is not yet time."

"You are a lucky man, Ernie. Hannah is a good girl who also can cook delightfully." Hermione sighed happily, "When can I congratulate the two of you?"

Ernie whispered "Just patience…". She smiled at him and he flushed even more.

With the good news joyfully filling her heart Hermione walked hurriedly on the street. When she passed the ruin of the Weasley twins' shop once again, she was surprised to find it had been cleaned up, and a familiar figure stood beside it.

"Lee Jordan!"

The dark-skinned young man turned towards her: "Hi, Hermione! It's been such a long time!" noticing her expression, he added: "Well, I want to build a shop right here on this site."

"Really?" Hermione couldn't tell she was happy or a little sad, because it meant another reminder of the Weasleys was about to disappear.

"It will be a new joke shop. Still named the Weasley Twins" Jordan laughed vivaciously. "I'm just a manager and partner. They are the great founders and masters of mischief."

Hermione nodded. It was the first time that somebody talked about Fred and George so easily. But she wasn't upset about it. After all, Lee Jordan had been the twins' best friend.

"Someone must follow in their footprints, yes. The great career of mischief…" Jordan's voice lowered. "We'll still sell their inventions, Hermione, and also add something new. And I'll also give Ginny's her share."

Hermione smiled gratefully at Lee's consideration: "By the way, Ginny has woken up, finally."

Jordan looked excited: "Wow! Now I just know that everything will be better."

In the bright April sun Hermione grinned joyfully at Jordan. Now she had found another reason to smile, for she knew the living were still remembering the dead in the best way possible: to move on happily, and never forget them.

The next month passed smoothly: Tiny Teddy's birthday, Lee Jordan's shop opening, her studies … and keeping an eye out whenever she was at home. Recently Hermione always studied hard until the night. She felt a little faint, and wanted to sleep often. She told herself that this was just fatigue from being exhausted with her studies. One day, however, when she climbed up the stairs, suddenly her view began to blur and spin.

Hermione braced herself against the wall to avoid falling. _I'm really just too tired_. So she went to her bedroom to lie down for a few hours of sleep. But in the evening then she felt sick and didn't eat anything.

The additional sleep hadn't helped, she still felt sick. But when she combined the way she currently felt sick with something else she had noticed since a few days…

_Her menstruation was late._

Hermione tried hard not to think what _that _possibly meant.

She didn't remember Lucius Malfoy using any protective measures _that _morning. Afterwards she also hadn't taking any contraceptive potions, or even muggle drugs. Although Hermione didn't think Malfoy would be careless to leave evidence.

"I hope not. I couldn't be so damn lucky." She said to herself in a sarcastic tone. She imagined the pureblood Malfoy finding a 'mudblood' carrying his bastard half-blood child. "He will want to kill me to keep his family's noble bloodline clean."

The next day Hermione went to St. Mungo's. She followed the directions she received at the front desk, and found the plain door, as described to her by the clerk. She knocked on the door, and it opened automatically. But as soon as she stepped in, she froze: the nurse on duty was Pansy Parkinson.

"You're Granger, aren't you?" greeted Pansy, striding over to the door and slamming it shut. Hermione had to sit on a bed against the wall. "Want a Pregnancy Test, don't you?" before she could say anything, Pansy continued scornfully, "I thought you would end up here as soon as the war had ended… Congratulations! So soon you are moving on."

Hermione silently prayed that her face wouldn't flush. She knew what Pansy was implying. She knew Pansy was talking about Hermione's relationship with Ron. As far as she remembered, Pansy Parkinson had not been with anyone else since Draco Malfoy's death. _She must think I'm a __**loose**__ woman_.

"I remember you are a nurse…"asked Hermione quickly.

" Now that is my job. Or why do you think you're able to see me here? _Like someone want to touch those sluts_…" Pansy grumbled under her breath, her voice low enough to let Hermione hear every word. "Now, lie down."

Hermione lay on the bed silently. Pansy pointed her wand to her and mumbled something. Hermione's body was covered by a cloud of white light. A moment later the color changed into green.

"You aren't pregnant." declared Pansy, who looked disappointed. "Congratulations once again." She said dryly.

Inhaling slowly, Hermione calmed her heartbeat, and did her best to look confused.

"My period is late." She said, "I think I can find a doctor here."

Pancy frowned. "You should have read the directions more carefully." She snapped.

Hermione just sat on the bed still. She didn't know what else Pansy would say.

"What a pity. Now would be a good time to bear a baby." Pansy commented mockingfully. Hermione blushed again. That toad Umbridge and her damn Population Law.

Just one year ago, when Kingsley Shacklebolt was elected as the Minister of Magic with great approval rating, Hermione thought the Ministry would adopt fairness and integrity. Seven months later, however, Kingsley lost his life in an attack of ten more powerful Death Eaters. After that Arthur Weasley took this seat, but he and Molly were killed soon after by a group of Death Eaters at their home. Then Percy Weasley took over the work of interim minister, and died when he tried to arrest the murderers of his parents. In the end, Cornelius Fudge got back his minister position, only to meet a dramatic end, death of heart attack, in his cocktail lounge only three days after his inauguration. Although the murderers of the first three ministers were caught, no one dared taking on the position of Minister afterwards. At last Undersecretary Dolores Jane Umbridge stepped up and claimed: "I don't fear death."

And she was bestowed the position. However, the ambitious but incompetent woman did not know how to deal with the attacks on the members of the Order of the Phoenix, so she came up with an idea.

"We should cover the loss of our dear family members and friends by bringing more healthy babies to this new world." she declared.

According to the new law, which Hermione thought was entirely rubbish, a family would receive government payments for each child, but illegitimate children were "disapproved", and the government forbade abortion.

Hermione thought it very absurd: it could only encourage cursory marriages, and illegal abortion.. But when she heard that the Ministry of Magic had planned to pass a Marriage Law which matched up eligible child-bearing-age wizards and witches in Britain, she couldn't help thanking Merlin that even that toad Umbridge did possess enough brain cells to stop that law.

Hermione awkwardly stood up, turned around and left. She couldn't face Pansy anymore. _I hope she doesn't figure out what has happened to me_. She didn't want to visit ten shops to gather materials and brew an abortion potion, though she did know how to do it. And she couldn't even imagine the reaction of the media at the news that the only _living _war heroine, the "Gryffindor Princess", was suddenly carrying a child as if out of nowhere, let alone a child from racist pureblood Lucius Malfoy.


	7. Chapter 7 Meeting with Umbridge

**All my best wishes to the patient, kind and wonderful beta-reader Cumplette!

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Chapter Seven Meeting with Umbridge

The month of April came and went. It brought Hermione a big gift-package from Lee Jordan with a variety of products from his new joke shop, and Tiny Teddy's mirth (although he nearly drowned in the twins' mini-swamp). Hermione also sent a sample of Lee's products to Fleur in France (after Bill's death, Fleur returned to France with their daughter for safety. Fleur promised to Hermione that when Britain became safe again, she and Victoire would return), and another one to Charlie Weasley in Romania (his last letter said he was going to France soon).

Then on a warm evening, where cherry and apple blossoms were covering the trees softly waving in the moonlight outside in the yard in front of her apartment building, Hermione found it had been a long time since she took a look at her calendar.

She turned the pages quietly, one after one. Suddenly her hand paused: today was just one week before that one particular date which would always remain vividly etched into her memory:

The day when she had lost all her friends two years ago.

Tomorrow an owl from the Ministry would come to her. But before she was able to deal with that she needed to sleep. She went to bed early trying to get a good night's rest to be ready to face tomorrow, but it took her a couple of hours before she finally drifted off into Morpheus' arms.

The next morning the owl from the Ministry of Magic really did arrive as expected, and Hermione gave the bird a response to take back. Then she picked up the box she had prepared earlier, and flooed to the Ministry.

The war relentlessly had changed the life of many people. As for her schoolmates, it had especially had an impact on their desired or preferred line of work.

For example, Pansy Parkinson was now working as a nurse, Gregory Goyle as an assistant at Flourish and Blotts, Blaise Zabini as a junior clerk in the Ministry, and…

she, Hermione Jane Granger, was working as the Ministry's new image ambassador.

_I'm not the image ambassador of the Ministry._ She argued with herself. However she couldn't find another more suitable title than that. As a war heroine, she had to attend important functions, and was often pictured in and written about by newspapers in combination with some elites she wasn't even acquainted with. It was supposed to be her responsibility, she was told once, to represent the good and wholesome image of the Ministry of Magic.

She didn't like it. She had never wanted it. She would never forget Harry's anger when the Ministry persuaded him to fake peace and tranquility as their image ambassador. Not to mention that she had to appear together publicly with that toad Dolores Umbridge, who seemingly loved the idea of keeping Hermione like a trophy at her side. Each time when she saw Umbridge's vivid dress robes and stout face with too much powder Hermione prayed that she received an opportunity to turn around and run as far as possible.

However, she had found that sometimes she had to surrender to the reality of life. She had learned to compromise when necessary.

She knew how much Umbridge loathed her, and she remembered the woman well from her time at Hogwarts. However she didn't know how despicable Umbridge would be as Minister of Magic, unless she had an opportunity to meet her in person again. After Harry Potter's death, the Ministry needed someone else to play the 'Golden One', and no one was more suitable to the role than her, the only remaining living member of the Golden Trio.

Umbridge needed her. Hermione had already realized during the time when Umbridge had been a teacher at Hogwarts that the woman had no skills, and was totally inept. Now despite of Umbridge's supposed fast track rise from Undersecretary to the position of Minister it was easy for Hermione to see through her duplicity and corruption, and notice her underlying incompetency. Like a crow Umbridge thirsted to steal peacocks' feathers to decorate herself. If that was not possible, she would rather stand beside peacocks to share the glory of their luxurious tail feathers. Disgustedly Hermione realized that Umbridge would not give up on her unless every bit of her glory was worn out. How should she reckon with that? A day where she saw and was seen by others, was a day where Umbridge wouldn't dare to harm her. Hermione now knew how intensely people made an effort to try to forget about the war._ I can understand that, _she smiled bitterly_, I remember how much I had wished to forget who I was._

But she couldn't let people forget about herself. At least she wouldn't give that toad Umbridge any chance to harm her! She wouldn't allow Umbridge to talk nonsense at functions anymore when she herself knew better! Hence, although she mostly stayed in muggle London to keep distance from the Ministry, she couldn't miss the anniversary.

Hermione stepped out of the floo, and found her way to Minister Umbridge's office. While she was walking through the large building there were always people greeting her friendly, and she nodded politely in return. At last, she stood in front of the reception desk of the Minister. At the desk sat a young woman with long sandy hair, who wore a pristinely pressed uniform robe, with a stylish bright-yellow blouse underneath it. Wearing discreet, professional-looking make-up, her old classmate, Lavender Brown showed a bright grin to Hermione.

"Good morning, Lavender." she smiled. In Hogwarts Lavender had just been her roommate, and there was even a time when Lavender had been Hermione's rival. But now seeing the evolved, professional Lavender, Hermione couldn't help feeling comforted. After all, they had shared their more or less carefree school days.

"Oh, Hermione! Merlin, long time no see. How have you been? You look nice! Are you coming to see the Minister? Oh did you hear that Parvati will…" Lavender immediately engaged in lively twitter about all the news concerning their numerous acquaintances. After the war each time Hermione had seen Lavender the gregarious witch had appeared very zealous.

"Yes, I have an appointment with the Minister." Hermione said lightly, watching Lavender busy herself with a thick notebook, and listening to her gossip. Then she smiled: Lavender was as talkative as she used to be, and it felt good to find something had not changed during such a changeful time. Seeing Lavender's painted nails glint in the sunshine, Hermione couldn't help wondering why Umbridge had chosen a pretty girl like Lavender as her clerk. Recalling a story from French writer Émile Zola '_Compagnon_', Hermione smiled ironically. _That toad must really believe herself to be beautiful__**.**_

"It's 10:00… just on time. The Minister is in." Lavender said aloud. "And..." she elegantly pointed at the door and winked, "Be careful, Hermione," she added in a whisper.

"Thank you." Hermione gave Lavender a genuinely thankful smile, and stepped into the office. _At least it isn't Pink Hell this time._ Hermione thought, remembering those bowknots, plates with kittens, pink wallpaper and dried flowers she had suffered through in Umbridge's Hogwarts office. She was almost grateful to find that the office she had just entered was in actuality relatively plain with wood color wallpaper, a cherry wood desk, light-brown leather sofas and plants in the corners. Making her way to Umbridge's sofa, Hermione glimpsed at the pathetic plants: some of them were blasted, some were dead and some pot even contained nothing but soil. _Why does Umbridge keep the plants but does not look after them?_

"_cough, cough._" Hearing the familiar noise of Umbridge's fake throat clearing, Hermione reluctantly turned to face the Minister. Dressed in a coffee laced robe, the voluminous woman sat in a comfortable armchair next to the sofa, her hair tied up in a honey-colored bowknot. Hermione realized she looked different, a little stronger and calmer. She remembered how she had resembled a sickly-sweet little girl when Cornelius Fudge was still in power. _Maybe she just did it to make the male officers drop their guard out of irritation_. After all these years of experience Hermione had learned that humble-looking people were sometimes more ambitious._ And Umbridge certainly seemed not to have changed at all, not even __**a tiny bit**_.

"Miss Granger, nice to see you again. Please sit down and have some tea." Umbridge greeted Hermione sweetly.

Hermione sat down politely. "With pleasure, Minister. Thank you." said Hermione, accepting the delicate cup with both hands. The tea was hot and she nearly dropped it. Hermione bit down the pain from the hot cup on her fingers. Then she held it in front of her face and quietly blew over its top. Steam rose from the cup hiding her face behind the silvery mist.

In the end it was Umbridge who broke the silence first.

"I have asked you here today to tell you there is an invitation…"

"Yes, I have received it. I will go, Minister." Hermione interrupted her softly.

Umbridge's face showed a fleeting shadow of displeasure, then she returned to her normal cloying manner.

"I am so glad that you remember our conversation from last year so clearly. I didn't expect that from you, Miss Granger." she smirked, and leaned back on her soft armchair.

"I think you still remember from our time together at Hogwarts how capable my memory is, Minister." said Hermione, slightly defiantly.

Umbridge blinked, then immediately recovered.

"That has been such an unforgettable experience. I just hope the little … accident from last year won't be repeated again, Miss Granger," slowly Umbridge leaned forward, her clumsy lips twisted in a sickening sweet smile. "How have you been feeling recently? Should I need to arrange a test in St. Mungo's for you, maybe even a bed? We all know how some curses have long-lasting after effects which aren't especially kind to witches and wizards. And I want to make sure that you'll get all the special care a warrior like you deserves, Miss Granger."

Hermione had to pinch her legs under the desk to stop her from exploding out of frustration. Pretending to take a sip from the cup, she said: "I am doing fine, Minister. After all I am still young, and those after effects have healed already. My youth protected me. Had I been older like _some people_, it would have of course been more difficult."

If Umbridge was stung, she didn't show it, though after a long pause she began to speak again.

"Have you packed up everything? Oh, I see you have brought your box. Always well prepared, I see."

"I just want to return to Hogwarts earlier."

Umbridge leaned back: "Yes. Your time in Hogwarts, that's your…_best _memory." she established the word** best**, smirking.

"Yes, I had some of my best experiences at the school, especially during the later years when I was older. I love my school. I might even have more reasons than other Hogwarts alumni to feel happy when returning to the old grounds, I dare say." Hermione put down the tea cup and stood up, "I hope I haven't taken up too much time of your time, Minister. You are a very _busy_ person. I think I should take my leave now. "

"You are welcome. I think headmaster Flitwick should be informed about your pending visit. Send him an owl to let him know. I am sure he will be very happy to see one of the best students our school has educated."

"Thank you for your time and for the tea, Minister." Hermione placed her tea cup back on the small coffee table, and left. She didn't turn around and therefore missed Umbridge's face immediately darkening when she closed the door behind her. As soon as Hermione had left, Umbridge's sweet smile quickly faded away, and was replaced by a sinister scowl. Picking up Hermione's cup with two fingers, Umbridge casually spilled the content into the corner. With a _sizzle_ the hot tea fell into the flowerpots and white steam rose.

Author's Note:

1. I hope the dialog between Hermione and Umbridge can be more intense and hotter. We can see Hermione was in a sort of dangerous situation in the magic world after the war. She had no dependable friends (all of her dependable, influential friends were Order members, and they all died), and her housemates were too young to have important positions. All she had was her intelligence and fame. Considering a catty but inept Dolores Umbridge as the Minister of Magic, Hermione wouldn't risk to fight against Lucius Malfoy before she collected sufficient resources.

2. Why do I think the jobs of Hermione's Slytherin schoolmates are funny? I always imagine Pansy Parkinson to be a spoiled girl who never does housework, but now her job buries her in chores. The book is the least liked thing in Goyle's world but now everyday he is surrounded by books. Blaise Zabini's mother is supposed to be a social butterfly, and a gold digger judging from HBP. I imagine most of the officers of the Ministry had been her guests and suitors. But deep in their mind these officers may not respect her much. They may say something _suggestive_about her, which may make Zabini uneasy.


	8. Chapter 8 Dumbledore's penitence

**My best gratitude to Crumplette for her wonderful beta-work!

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Chapter Eight Dumbledore's Penitence

The quaint town of Hogsmeade lay peacefully on a bright morning in May. Without the noisy students from Hogwarts filling the streets on the weekends the town appeared so serene. Witches and wizards were walking down the streets, their faces though tainted with morning tiredness, were wearing peaceful looks — the typical after-war expression. Among them a woman with a young face and clear dark eyes strode purposefully across the pavement. Clad in a light-grey dress, the composed woman made her way to Hogwarts, and stopped in front of the grand gate which was the entrance to the school.

After using the large cast iron door knocker three times, Hermione quietly waited for the gate to be opened. To her surprise, she saw a familiar figure coming towards her across the grass. A hint of a smile curled her lips.

"Seamus!" Hermione greeted her housemate warmly.

"Aren't you happy to see me?" Seamus grinned at her, and offered her his hand, but Hermione had already moved on. He caught up to her with several strides, and took the box she was carrying.

"Hurry up, and we will catch the carriage, Hermione."

"That's so nice of you, Seamus. Thank you." Hermione replied, hoping her voice sounded natural, and not as freaked out as she felt. She could have asked him to walk all the way to the castle with her instead of taking the offered carriage, but that obviously was not such a good idea. She forced herself not to look at those bizarre, skinny creatures standing idly in front of the carriage. Thestrals always had given her a fright, from the first day on when she was able to see them. Though they were quite gentle and graceful creatures, Hermione could not shake off the feeling thestrals were harbingers of death. After all, they were only visible to people who had seen a dead person! Hermione pulled together all her courage and determination, and climbed into the carriage, sitting down next to Seamus.

And as soon as the carriage reached their destination, Hermione couldn't help jumping out as soon as possible, and started to walk away.

"Hermione, wait a minute!" Seamus hurried to catch up with her. "So … can't wait to see all of us again? You have no idea how much they have missed you, Hermione. Professor Flitwick, Professor Sprout, even Madam Pince and Madam Pomfrey…"

A hint of uneasiness appeared on her face, and then disappeared again promptly. "I'm sorry Seamus." Hermiones said softly, "How have you been doing since the last time I've seen you? What about your students? I always knew you'd get that Magical History teacher position! You must be the youngest professor in Hogwarts now, I believe."

"No. I'm not a professor, I'm just an assistant." said Seamus, if not a little disappointed. "In fact, students are quite surprised that the class is being taught by both a living person and a dead person together."

"Professor Binns is still teaching? I heard he has retired."

"Yes he has, but being a ghost, he is still staying in our castle. It's his home after all, you know. And now that he is retired he suddenly has become so … lively, definitely more than when he was teaching us, maybe even more than when he was still alive.

During most classes he will just float through the blackboard into the classroom as he has always done, and continuously keeps adding to the material I am trying to convey to the class! I had no idea he knows so much about history!"

"I really hadn't expected Professor Binns to be so lively!" Hermione said, recalling the characteristically monotonous voice which no one could resist its hypnotic effect—maybe expect her. Parvati Patil, her roommate and Seamus's girlfriend even made Binns's class as a special time to sleep when she and Lavender after they stayed up to finish homework. In fact she kept falling asleep through most of Binns's classes.

"Oh, he said when he was a teacher, he always had to make sure everything he told the students was true and accurate. But now that he is retired, he finally can talk to the students about all those legends, stories, and unofficial history pieces which are not mentioned in the books. And, he told me, he likes this much better. He even confessed to me that he grew bored with the official facts he had to teach."

Hermione couldn't help smiling. "That's like him." said she quietly, memories from years ago pouring to the surface of her mind.

"He really is like a living history book, for he has witnessed so many events! After classes he even talks with the students and gathers more material. You know, he is currently writing a history book about the last war."

Hermione's smile faded. History was never her most favorite subject. Seamus caught her wilting smile and finished up his tale: "Now Professor Binns is on a journey to collect further information. He said traveling is much more convenient without a heavy body."

Hermione gave him a weary smile: "Sounds like your life is quite colorful now."

Seamus frowned: "Yes, hasn't been so quiet recently. Since that woman Rita Skeeter showed up here…"

"What?" Hermione gasped. After the war, Aberforth Dumbledore had accused Rita Skeeter of twisting the truth, and thus dishonoring his brother Albus. Aberforth went to court, and won the case. Since then the Daily Prophet's most famous journalist Rita Skeeter became infamous, and kept quiet for a long time. Considering how insolent and outrageous the woman was, Hermione really wondered how a mere bartender could have defeated her. _However Aberforth was not just any bartender, no, far from it: he owned the notorious Hog's Head pub in Hogsmeade, and therefore knew how to deal with unsavory people!_ She concluded.

"Did you know that Skeeter has now switched to writing romances? She said she wants to dig around in the past to unveil all the forgotten romances of Hogwarts."

Hermione couldn't help snorting: "At least she has learned not to disturb the living anymore." She hadn't expected the Skeeter woman to change her focus and venture her quill out into the affairs of the dead.

"I still can't believe it. Listen to this: She somehow found out about the Grey Lady and the Bloody Baron. No one knows how that woman managed to chat up all those ghosts and portraits who usually are very private, and don't give out private information to strangers. Regardless … When the story came out, the Grey Lady was so upset, she went crying over and over through the halls, and Peeves kept on laughing at the Bloody Baron for weeks."

"And then what happened?"

"The Grey Lady passed herself through Skeeter's body, and the noisy journalist ended up frozen half to death." laughed Seamus.

Hermione chuckled. She really disliked that cow Rita Skeeter. Her quill was more harmful than a dagger. Walking towards the castle and listening to Seamus talking about his life as a teacher, and updating her about the happenings in the school, Hermione couldn't help looking around reminiscently.

Hogwarts seemed the same as it used to be. The majestic castle stood steadily, dominating the extensive grounds. Weather and history left traces and wounds on the old stones, making the building look like an adamant elder. The wind whispered through the leaves of the Forbidden Forest with a low, susurrous murmur, as it had done countless times over the centuries. Hermione could see the lonely hut on the end of the lawn, right at the fringes of the forest. Its owner, Hagrid, had left it only a year ago. When Hagrid could no longer bear the loneliness and grief the aftermath of the war had left him with, it was Madame Maxime who came one day, and took him with her to France. Hermione was glad Hagrid had found happiness, but at the same time, it gave her a little sting in her heart knowing that another one of her friends had moved on but she herself still felt stuck.

The grass felt so lush underneath her feet, but she avoided looking down to see the ground. She knew wherever there was a spot of greener and more luxuriant grass the soil had once been permeated and enriched by a pool of one of her friends' blood.

Seamus dashed along talking happily for a while, until he noticed her silence. Giving her a sympathetic look, Seamus sighed: "I'm sorry, but I have another two classes starting soon.. Do you mind if I take my leave now? You might like some time alone to reconnect with the place. I will take your box to your room first. It's the same room as last time. I'm sure you remember how to get there."

Hermione smiled at his kindness and they parted. She quietly walked across the lawn: now she was alone to dwell on her memories. As a fellow Gryffindor housemate Seamus could comfort her, but nobody was able to fully understand her. Nobody had suffered as much as she had, nobody had wandered through their neighborhood absent-mindedly on so many evenings as her; nobody had spent as many nights crying for their dead friends as her. Hermione saw those patches of richly green, luxuriant grass and her tears started falling. Slowly she kneeled down and touched the ground.

During the final battle two years ago, Voldemort himself had killed Harry and Ron on that very same spot she was touching right now. He had laughed his crazy intimidating laughter when he took the lives of her two best friends. She would never forget the moment when Voldemort shot out those two killing curses, too fast for either Harry or Ron to duck away. She would always remember how the life expired from the two boys who had been like brothers to her. The image would never leave her: their broken bodies lying on the grass in their own blood which was slowly seeping into the ground, swallowed eagerly by the soil.

More memories from that day surfaced in her mind. When Voldemort killed Harry, who unknowingly was his last horcrux, he unwittingly had damaged the last remaining piece of his soul, weakening his body, and rendering himself mortal. Neville Longbottom had watched how the Dark Lord had killed his best friends, and in his rage fired an Avada Kedavra at Voldemort. When he saw his spell shattering the body of the Dark Lord to pieces, Neville could not believe his luck. But his triumph did not last for long. Bellatrix Lestrange took advantage of Neville's momentary emotional distraction to hit him lethally.

Chaos ensued. Flashes of all colors flew through the air, and people fell dead to the ground randomly. The bloody battle had been replaying in her mind so many times, the details gradually fading along the way. Now only fractions of the battle would float to the surface of her memory: Professor Flitwick jumped onto Antonin Dolohov and shot a Conjunctivitus Curse into his eyes; Madam Pomfrey slit Travers's throat with a scalpel; Percy Weasley promptly hexed his boss Yaxley; the Carrows were defeated by members of Dumbledore's Army; the hippogriff Witherwings stepped on Macnair. Hermione had no idea how she had managed to escape all those deadly traps, and to dodge all the curses. When finally sunset painted the scene the color of blood, only few people were still standing on the battlefield. Bellatrix Lestrange was the only Death Eater they caught alive. The others either either escaped or died, especially Wormtail who was so frightened that he killed himself before anyone could approach him. ~*~

Hermione didn't know how her feet had found the way to the office of the Headmaster, how her mouth had spoken the password. In the end, she was pulled out of her memories by a soft voice:

"Miss Granger, how nice to see you again." said Professor Flitwick, who sat on a very, very high armchair behind a quaint desk. His short form made him appear buried behind the parchments and books on his desk, but his intelligent eyes and kind face prevented the scene from looking ridiculous. He excitedly smiled at her: "It has been quite some time now since you, one of my most intelligent students, left our school. By the way, Miss Granger, how did you manage to solve my password, 'First Phoenix Or First Fire'?"

"Yes?" she said with confusion. Even she had no idea what he had said just now. "Hmm… there doesn't really exist either Phoenix or fire, because…everything is just a different illusion of Nature?" she said with uncertainty in her voice.

"Very good, but not accurate. Both phoenix and fire are material, where nature in itself is abstract. However the embodiment of nature isn't illusion." said Professor Flitwick sincerely.

Hermione couldn't help smiling: "Sorry, Professor Flitwick. I'm afraid I'm not intelligent enough to understand the essentials of what you are kindly explaining to me."

Professor Filtwick sighed: "If you had only been sorted into Ravenclaw house, our trivial, philosophical exploits would have become second nature to you." Then his face turned into a wide smile: "But you have done very well in Gryffindor, and our school has over the years benefitted over and over from your bravery and your tactical prowess. Plus your excellent memory of my classes has helped you to solve the password riddle anyways."

They began to chat casually with the comfortable easiness customary among long-time acquaintances. Several minutes later, Hermione looked around and noticed the portraits on the wall, where the previous headmasters were sleeping peacefully. But Dumbledore was absent.

"Where's Professor Dumbledore?" Hermione asked.

"He must be out wandering around again." Professor Flitwick smiled, "You see, Miss Granger, only those of my former colleagues who have been dead since a long time spend their time sleeping. Headmasters who are new to their postmortal life usually don't like staying in their frames for long, and instead they explore their new freedom as a portrait. They go visiting other paintings, and spend hours talking with all kinds of people, portraits or not. Are you interested in meeting Professor Dumbledore, Miss Granger?"

"Me?" Hermione replied confused.

"I'm sure Professor Dumbledore would want to see you very much. And maybe you have something to tell him. I just want to say, Miss Granger, if you like to meet him, I will be happy to arrange it for you."

Hermione lowered her eyes. Fear and curiosity battled inside her, and the curiosity won in the end. "That would be great. Can I have a little private time with him, Professor Flitwick?"

"Of course. My pleasure, Miss Granger."

After thanking Headmaster Flitwick, Hermione turned around, listening to the door being securely shut from the outside. Professor Flitwick had arranged for an empty classroom for the meeting, and a portrait of Professor Dumbledore now adorned one of the walls.

Hermione quietly waited, and soon the figure of Albus Dumbledore appeared in the frame. For a split second it looked as if his blue eyes were twinkling with surprise and doubt, but either he immediately concealed it, or it must have been an illusion of her imagination.

"Professor Dumbledore" Hermione greeted him, and fell into silence.

"Ah, Miss Grange, nice to see you. I must say your visit comes as a surprise to me."

_Haven't you foreseen it?_ A silent anger built up inside her, and started her blood to boil, but Hermione said merely: "Yes, Professor."

She didn't know whether Dumbledore noticed her silence, because he continued cheerily: "I think all teachers will be very glad to see you. How are you doing, Miss Granger? I hope you are all right and everything is going well for you.." here he paused, and looked out of the frame. Bright sunshine shot through the windows, lightening up his portrait, and adding a subtle shine to his sumptuous robes. "Today is a nice day." He commented.

Hermione kept her silence. The silent anger flooded through her blood. But she just couldn't spill it all out to the old wizard, and she didn't know why. The anger didn't make her fierce, instead, it made her weak.

"If I could only see what is happening outside of my frame…" he sighed.

Just that last sentence undid her. She felt how her anger suddenly peaked. But instead of snapping back to him the proper responses which were ready inside her mouth, she struggled to swallow them down, waiting for her temper to cool off again.

After a long, long silence. Hermione opened her mouth with difficulty.

"Have you remembered the note in Harry's pocket, Professor?" she noticed Dumbledore looked surprised for a second there, but not shocked. _He knows. He has been waiting for me to ask him! _Pressing her face into a hard façade, Hermione forced herself to add: "I have been waiting for your answer since two years now, Professor."

The sunshine in the room dimmed. Dumbledore's face didn't change, but Hermione could feel him wilting in the following second..

"You have known the answer, Miss Granger."

Of course she had known. Two years ago, after pulling away a wailing Ginny from Harry, it was she who tidied his clothes, and found two letters in his pocket. One was to her and Ron, saying since he had known he was the last horcrux, he had decided to sacrifice himself and where his will was located. In the other letter there was a map, some money and a note which read: _You are the last horcrux, Harry_.

Hermione swallowed hard. She couldn't cry. She had so many things to ask. With clenched teeth, she asked her next question: "Since how long have you known Harry to be the last horcrux, Professor?"

Dumbledore sighed lightly: "I've known since about five years in his second year, because of Tom Riddle's diary. Everything else you know for yourself."

Hermione felt tears welling up in her eyes. She almost hoped to be able to stop her questions from coming out of her mouth, but it was impossible. She had to hear everything from Dumbledore himself, or she wouldn't be able to believe it.

"Then you…you have manipulated Harry to… to sacrifice himself, haven't you."

Dumbledore paused. A hint of misery appeared in his eyes. And his face hardened.

"I won't deny your accusations, Miss Granger."

Hermione wished for a wall behind her back to lean against, or hit her head on.

"Why?" in a second thousands of questions twirled through her mind, but the only thing she was able to utter was that one word.

Dumbledore's look saddened and turned serious. "That was his choice."

_Of course you can say that it was Harry's choice. Haven't you left both map and money for him!_ All she wanted at that particular moment was to demand of Dumbledore to tell her that the only choice he had left for Harry was to either be a hero or ….. a coward.

As his best friend, she knew Harry would never have tried to escape the confrontation with Voldemort, especially where his escape would have meant a world where Voldemort had won. Harry very well knew such an escape was no escape at all. And Dumbledore knew Harry much better than she did, didn't he?

"Really?" she knew her question was a dagger, and she was stabbing it into Dumbledore's heart. But she couldn't stop herself; she just couldn't.

Dumbledore sighed deeply. "That was his fate."

Already the simple word "fate" stung her. Why did so many good, intelligent people believe in such a ridiculous prophecy about a paranoid, and scarred one-year-old baby with the title of _The Boy Who Lived _was beside her. What was worse: Why did so many good people have to die in the aftermath of said prophecy?

"Why would all of you believe in a ridiculous prophecy?" Hermione asked. Noticing Dumbledore's expression, she added sharply, "I am not a witch born into a magic world, so please do not dare telling me it's just the abstruseness of magic, Professor!"

At that moment Dumbledore looked like a stricken tree.

"It doesn't matter what I believed. It was Voldemort. He himself marked Harry as his opponent. That "boy who lived" could have been anyone, such as Neville Longbottom, or for example Ron Weasley, if Trelawney had said their names. It could even have been you, Miss Granger," he smiled weakly, "but I don't think your parents could have protected you like Harry's mother did when she died."

"Why…I simply can't get my mind around why everyone did believe that stupid prophecy?" she repeated with a shrill voice.

"What mattered were Voldemort's thoughts. Deep down in his heart Voldemort knew clearly one day those oppressed witches and wizards would stand up against him and fight back. He knew he would never kill all the people who hated him. He didn't know love, but he knew the power of hatred all too clearly: he grew up with that emotion. He must kill all his potential opponents and extinguish people's last slither of hope. Of course he would believe in that prophecy. But he didn't know he wasn't able to kill Harry. Instead, his actions turned against him: he made Harry into a symbol of his defeat, and thus giving people the hope to one day overcome him."

She felt herself sinking down slowly, and found her knees against the cold stone floor.

_He was too genius. He was too foreseeing. He was too unfathomable_…

"All those five years you have been planning, and waiting for him to be...killed?" she asked incredulously, "you have known what Harry eventually was about to face, and you have never told him?"

"What could I have told him…" She heard his long, deep sigh, but she couldn't even spare him a look. The cruel hand of sadness clenched at her chest, making her breath hard.

"You knew Harry was a horcrux? You knew by killing him Voldemort would destroy himself. So you made Harry sacrifice himself to Voldemort. Didn't you, Professor?" she asked bitterly.

Dumbledore's voice grew harder: "You can say I implied it to him. But I never directly outright asked him to do it. Miss Granger, I can vow to you that if only there had been even a slightest hope that Harry, or others, could live, I would never have hesitated to sacrifice my own life to save them. However, if I were to face the same situation today, I still would not change my actions. I have no regrets, Miss Granger."

There was no need for him to say this, Hermione thought to herself. She had known his reply already before he had opened his mouth. Slowly Hermione buried her face in her hand, and sadness flew out with her tears.

She had survived a war. Not only had she survived a war, she had even been a front line warrior! Even before Hogwarts, she had begun to read books about wars and battle and the Second War made her truly understand with war always came destruction and sacrifice. For the sake of Merlin, more than once had she seen blood on people's hands, even her own. But…but why did those who died have to be all her dear friends? _If Harry was still alive_, Hermione thought selfishly,_ then they both would be alive right now, and she would have someone to share her misery with_.

Obviously Dumbledore was surprised by her tears.

"Had I had a choice back then, I wouldn't have done this, Miss Granger." He offered quickly, "But I had a war to win, **weall** had to win this war! If Harry had not been able to defeat Voldemort, so many people's lives would have been much worse than death. For example you, Miss Granger, Hermione, I don't even dare to imagine what you had suffered if Voldemort had won …You were Harry's best friend, the strategic power behind the Golden Trio, muggleborn … and …" his voice hesitated for a moment "… a girl."

Hearing Dumbledore's words, suddenly what Lucius Malfoy had done to her poured into her heart and Hermione couldn't help crying out aloud.

Dumbledore was right. She only had experienced a taste of Voldemort and his followers, but it was enough to make her never dare to imagine what life could have been like had Voldemort come to full power. Now her life was sad, but had Voldemort won, her life would been a living hell. It would certainly not have been better than fighting against him and dying in the process. No, maybe not for his followers, but for everybody else death was definitely a better choice than a life like under Voldemort. Dumbledore had foreseen that, and Harry had known it as well. Even if he had not been "The Boy Who Lived", he had been the child of two brave aurors. Neville himself nearly had become "the boy who lived" when Bellatrix Lestrange tortured his parents into mental oblivion.

As to the rest of her friends, Lupin was only an object to be removed in Voldemort's eyes. Sirius and the Weasleys had already been identified as "blood-traitors", and Luna and her father had been on Voldemort's elimination list as well.

_We had no choice_ Hermione realized. Since she befriended Harry, since they found out about Voldemort and started their fight against him, the freedom of choice had disappeared. All of this only made her cry more with sadness.

Dumbledore looked at her with sorrow.

"If you want to hate me, Miss Granger, go ahead. I welcome you to it."

In surprise Hermione looked up at him. She felt her heart throbbing, but she wasn't sure anymore that it was because of hatred.

"You have enough reasons to hate me, Miss Granger. After all, had it been not for me, somebody may be still alive today. But…I never wanted this to happen. Had I had the choice, I would not have let anybody come to their death. If I only could have thought of other ways…"

Hermione's sobs heaved across her chest. She didn't regret that she had fought with Harry. She never regretted the fact she had fought against the Evil. She just hated that…she had been blind all this time. But, she thought to herself, would she really have liked to know all along what would happen from the beginning? Had she known …. Well, that was another story. Bit did she have the right to hate Dumbledore?

Even his brother Aberforth had put up the photo of his family in his pub. The photo which she had looked at each time she had come to the dingy place, the photo which showed his parents, and three lovely blond children. Who had more right to blame Albus Dumbledore than Aberforth? How could she, a survivor and a protected teenager, claim that right?

But she said nothing. She only sobbed quietly. After a while her sobbing subsided again.

"People call you the greatest wizard of all times." Even she herself didn't know why she brought this up.

Dumbledore's eyes were full of sadness and penitence: "I am an old man who made many mistakes. If you don't find it too prideful of me, I dare say I am far more intelligent than most people. Thus my mistakes must also be far graver than most people's. Some mistakes are so severe they can only be made by someone, as you say, 'great' like me. A small inconvenience, but for an individual person it may be fatal."

He smiled bitterly: "I may be a great wizard. But I am not a good teacher, nor am I a good headmaster."

_Yes, of course. We all were your students, but these people died_! Hermione shouted in her mind. But she just couldn't get it out aloud. She didn't know how she felt; she didn't know whether she could hate Dumbledore or not; she didn't know whom she could blame. But now she just couldn't stay in Dumbledore's presence any longer. She had to run away, from him, from all of this, to save what little was left of her sanity.

At last she stood up and staggered to the door. When she made to shut the door behind her, she heard a heavy sigh coming from the classroom.

Thank you for reading!


	9. Chapter 9 A life debt

**Thank you Crumplette for your patient and wonderful beta-work!

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Chapter Nine - A Life Debt

That night Hermione couldn't find any sleep. In the following two days, had it not been for Madam Pomfrey's sleeping draught she undoubtedly would be have been sporting black rims around her eyes on the morning of the Anniversary Ceremony.

Everything went so smoothly. However, dressed in vibrant scarlet, sitting among the guests present, hearing the speeches about the "great victory of Good defeating Evil after all the glorious sacrifices", she couldn't help feeling ridiculous. Why had "the-one-who-cannot-be-named" suddenly changed into "insane, fierce _**half-blood**_ wizard"? Why was everyone talking about Tom Riddle when very few of them even dared to speak his name just two years ago? Why were there so many people whom she had never seen before? Why did "the-boy-who-lived"—no, "the-boy**s**-who-lived" both die? Why were so many people lying in their graves when they should have been there, together with her, receiving the honor and gratitude they deserved? Why? Why? Why?

When her time came, she stood up and straightened herself, not looking at the elites just behind the stage, but at the back of the audience where she had noticed the familiar faces of her acquaintances.

"I wish that all my friends, may they be in Heaven or here on Earth, can be healthy and happy forever and always." At that sentence, her voice was choking with tears and her eyes nearly came out. Silently she reminded herself not to faint.

She could feel someone was less than happy with her speech, but she didn't care. Soon the evening came and the ceremony, which now continued with a dinner reception, became more and more boring.

"Oh." she sighed lightly, turned around and happened to see Umbridge, who shamelessly wore a sickly pink dress, and exposed too much flabby skin for anybody's liking. Suddenly she felt uncomfortable about her scarlet dress. She should have worn black. To mourn the dead. Now nothing could avert her attention from the Victory Banquet with its exquisite dishes to the well-dressed society elites. She had completed her duty, and now she only felt tired. Too tired. She didn't believe she could tolerate it any longer.

She politely declined an invitation to chat from Professor Slughorn, who had been complaining that the war had taken away half of his best members and earnestly inquired if she wanted a career in the Ministry, and turned to leave.

However, before she could reach the entrance, a drawling voice called her name.

"Oh, Miss Granger. Wonderful night, isn't it? A young and pretty lady like you should enjoy herself instead of leaving early, don't you think?"

Hermione's heart choked in her throat: she hadn't noticed Lucius Malfoy during the ceremony. Now in the empty hallway there was nobody except her and him. Standing still, she felt Lucius Malfoy's shadow towering over her, and his cold scent of cypress and muskiness surrounded her..

She struggled to suppress the urge to run away. _No, dont' fear, he won't dare to do anything. Not with all those people here at the reception._

After a deep, silent breath, Hermione turned back and held her head up with all her courage. Her chocolate colored eyes met Lucius Malfoy's ice-blue orbs. He wore a sumptuous black silk robe, his hair tied in a black bow, his snake-head cane in his right hand. His black clad figure stood out of the bright background, but his blonde hair blended with the light, giving his features an eerie highlight.

"Had I known someone shameless like you would attend…." she started to say.

Lucius Malfoy's lips curled in disgust, but immediately he switched topics.

"I don't like your dress tonight." he said. Compared to the other gorgeously dressed ladies at the reception, Hermione looked rather modest. She wore a scarlet red high-cut satin dress, covering her delicate collarbones. She wore no jewelry, except for a white orchid in her hair. Lucius could see her profile, which appeared to be flushing intoxicatingly with the dancing flames of the fireplace reflecting on her skin.

Hermione found him looking at her neck. Angrily she snapped : "I'm trying to hide that hideous necklace of yours. I don't want anyone to see my neck tainted with something belonging to you, Malfoy."

"Manners, Miss Granger. You are supposed to be grateful for a valuable gift you _accepted_." he bent down and whispered in her ear: "If you don't want it, why didn't you give it back to me?"

He could see the rage burning in the girl's eyes. "I tried all possible ways I could think of to take it off, but nothing worked. The necklace has no clasps and I can somehow not even break it."

In her mind she recalled how the day after Lucius had placed the necklace around her neck she had gone to Knockturn Alley to let the owner of Borgin & Burkes examine it for her. The old Mr. Borgin bent over her to examine the necklace carefully while leering at her every now and then, as if he was evaluating her as well. His avaricious eyes sickened her stomach as if she had just swallowed a fly. She was utterly relieved when Mr. Borgin had finished his examination. The old man's face slowly developed a wicked grin, and he told her the necklace was a priceless old magical artefact.

Hermione's mind returned to the present. "Oh, my apologies, I forgot." Lucius told her with mock concern on his face. "Of course you cannot take it off." he suddenly moved a gloved hand towards Hermione's neck. She instantly jerked back. "Shhh," his voice placated her soothingly, "let me show you how to do it." She shakily pulled out the necklace from underneath her dress, and he swiftly reached for it, seemingly accidentally brushing slightly over her hand.

His face now showed a simple, merely industrious expression. He pinched the necklace, and the metal suddenly melted between his thumb and index finger. A gasp escaped from Hermione's mouth.

"Awesome, isn't it?" his face now broke into a hint of a slight smile, and he ran the smooth leather of his gloved finger across the girl's neck. "It is an ancient magic, only known by a few most noble pure-blood families." He moved closer to the side of her face, and breathed into her ear "Tsk tsk, how can such a talented, know-it-all witch like yourself not know about this simple trick?"

His lips brushed slightly over her earlobe, almost as if caressing her. Then he suddenly pulled back, and placed a cold, deprecating sneer on his face. His voice turned to almost gleeful ice: "But, considering your parentage, how can I be surprised."

Hermione shivered. Unlike his son, Lucius Malfoy was at all times capable of severely hurting her dignity, crushing her self-confidence by just a comment, a look, and a facial expression. He didn't even have to resort to using the term "mudblood" to taunt her origin. And…his closeness alone could already instill her with fear, even though the last time she had met him, she had barely…struggled against him.

Lucius felt her fear, and smiled smugly: "Well, I guess you must wonder how I am able to attend this reception."

Hermione said nothing. _Must have something to do with your money_.

"I donated a significant amount of money to Hogwarts, and thus the Minister invited me."

Hermione turned on her heels and glared at him furiously.

"Typical Malfoy style isn't it?" she hissed: "Buy freedom with money and live a fake decent life."

He sneered and playfully bent down to brush his breath against her ear.

"May I tell you that I am about to resume my position of governor of Hogwarts again? Actually my reputation is even cleaner now than it was before the war. Thanks to the law instantiated by our respectable late Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt, I am not even a suspected Death Eater anymore." He added special emphasis at the last word.

Hermione paled. She recalled Lucius Malfoy's war criminal trial. After her witness statement had been considered invalid, in despair Hermione requested to check Malfoy's Dark Mark, but his alabaster colored forearms no longer bore any mark at all. According to the law that Hermione proposed, the Dark Mark was considered infallible evidence of a person's Death Eaterdom. Because of the missing Dark Mark as main evidence, and Malfoy's slyness to have proactively eliminated any remnants of other crimes to potentially charge him with, Hermione had to despondently watch him walk away from the trial unharmed. Lucius Malfoy, right hand man and strategist to Lord Voldemort, and suspected orchestrator of countless attacks on muggles was walking away a free man! She bit her tongue, forcing herself to calm down.

"May I tell you that law was proposed by me?"said she.

Lucius's eyebrows raised slightly. But his expression did not waver.

"I see, now you must be very, very regretful for proposing that law, aren't you." he said with a mocking expression glancing over his face, and a slight touch of sarcasm dominating his voice.

Although she only reached his chin even with heels, Hermione stood to her full height. Her eyes were twinkling, like bright stars on a cold winter night.

"I have no regrets, Malfoy. In the war everything was possible. Some people were forced to take the Dark Mark, some people were under the influence of the 'Imperius' curse, some people were cheated into it with false promises. In a word, those people did not know what they did. After the war, with the Government's strong wish to punish murderers, some innocent people may have been trapped by false witness and vendetta.

If our victory was built on falsehood, how can people live peacefully again? Because once these falsehoods are revealed, it's just a matter of time until the citizens will lose hope and never believe the Government again. An unfair judicial system is worse than crimes. And I will do everything I can to never have to witness Sirius Black's tragedy repeating itself with another innocent person."

"But I will not forgive you, Malfoy, ever." Hermione's face became hard. "Even though I cannot talk about your _crime _towards me," a pearl-like tear glistened in her eye, but she managed not to let it fall "I vow that one day I will make you receive your ultimate punishment. I will watch you die slowly inch by inch. And since you are last person alive of the Malfoy pureblood line," at these words her face took on a dangerous, almost gleeful look, "I will watch your precious dynasty die with you. Mark my words."

Swiftly she turned on her heels and began to leave. But suddenly a terrible pain attacked her heart. Her world began to spin and she fell onto the floor…

Lucius Malfoy's arms held her. After she was able to find her balance again she quickly struggled free of him so fiercely, her hair became askew. Her dark brown eyes appeared even darker, and feverish. "Let me go!" she hissed.

"May I escort you home, Miss Granger? You do not look well." Lucius immediately suggested, without really knowing why these words escaped his mouth. After all, he hated the girl and any pain she was experiencing should ultimately please him.

"No, I would rather die before letting you approach my home." With a hand pressed tightly onto her chest Hermione left. The orchid she wore in her hair fell onto the floor.

Hermione apparated to her apartment, and collapsed on the floor. Her limbs hurt, and a dull fire was burning under the skin.

Her sequela!

Since Antonin Dolohov hit her with that purple flash during her fifth year at the Department of Mysteries, Hermione was unable to count how many curses she had suffered. In the dungeon of Malfoy Manor she tried to keep up counting the times that Bellatrix Lestrange had inflicted the Cruciatus curse on her. She remembered thinking "thirteen" before her view faded and the world around her became all black.

She never really recovered from those curses, as the healers had told her. She still was some kind of optimistic about it, since these curses fortunately had only harmed her physically. Her brain was still functioning as crisply as it always had, and also her magical abilities had not diminished in any form.

But she felt weaker. Now she couldn't stay up late anymore, imbibe alcoholic liquids, have meals irregularly, eat rich food, or perform physical labor. But worst of all was the pain. She could never foresee when it would start, nor could she estimate when it would end again. The pain would suddenly attack her, and she could do nothing but clench her teeth and curl into a ball while it was rippling through her.

"That's alright. Some relaxing honey tea and it will be fine." she told herself. She lay on the floor for a while which to her felt like half an hour until she gathered enough strength and rose to her feet. Moving to the table, she pulled some orchid petals from a vase, placed them into her mouth, chewed slowly and ate several spoons of honey.

After the healers in St. Mungo's had tried their best procedures on her to counteract the sequela, she had in her despair turned to Special Healer Augustus Pye. While working as an intern in Arthur Weasley's department in the Ministry, Augustus had fallen in love with the muggle medicine. Even though his family and all of his friends thought he was crazy, he went to a muggle university to study medicine. Afterwards he took on additional courses in traditional Chinese medicine to be able to offer his patients a comprehensive healing approach.

Augustus Pye also received his Magical Healer Certificate from St. Mungo's, and was now the only healer offering a portfolio of treatments combining Magical, Western, and traditional Chinese medicine. Over time, Special Healer Augustus Pye had become the last hope for witches and wizards who found no relief in the regular treatments at St. Mungo's.

Augustus had examined Hermione, and even he had known of no way to heal her. But he had given her the advice to take in orchid petals with honey every day. That method would help to lessen the impact of the sequela in the long run.

However, Hermione knew very well "in the long run" in her case meant "never". But gradually she had gotten used to eating flowers every day. Sometimes she could eat nothing but petals and honey all day long. She swallowed the petals and felt better. However, when she poured some tea into her mug, another wave of severe pain rippled through her, and she did not notice how her porcelain daisy patterned tea mug slipped out of her hands, and fell down to the floor.

Lucius Malfoy sat in his study and was upset. Now he was even drinking liquor again! Absent-mindedly he poured himself a glass of fire whisky from his crystal decanter, and chugged the fiery amber liquid down his throat. His whole mind was concentrated on that little detail she had told him about today!

He had always assumed that silly law was the idea of Kingsley Shacklebolt. Now it had turned out to be the work of that girl! Well, just the typical Gryffindor morality: fairness, justice and stubborn chivalry. So foolish!

But it didn't matter. The point that upset him so much was he owed his life to her in some way! Without the law which established the Dark Mark as infallible evidence of a person's Death Eatership he would inevitably have been convicted and sentenced to death by Dementor's kiss.

Hermione's law, however, had given him freedom and saved his life. It seemed though the little girl had not realized the importance of those particular ramifications of her law. But having been raised in an old pure-blood family, Lucius knew that every time a wizard owed their life to another wizard, a strong magical bond was built between the two people. The consequences were unpredictable, but the bond could prove very vital or fatal. Lucius didn't like anything to be out of his control, and subconsciously he feared the uncertainty of the bond.

"But she still owes me one life. She killed my wife and my son." he told himself.

_It was that Weasley boy who killed your wife!_ An voice inside him told him.

That's her lover boy. Lucius determined to ignore his inside voice.

_But you have already taken your revenge on the girl._

"That's not enough!" Lucius yelled.

He continued to argue with himself, and even he himself did not know the reason why.

Why should he need reasons to harm a filthy mudblood murderer?

_Maybe because that "murderer" had started to appear more and more … innocent_

He could feel her fear and hatred towards him at each of their encounters. He could smell her shame and confusion at his proximity. But he had never felt any **guilt** inside her. She didn't even defend herself when he accused her of killing his son, but instead of guilt, he just felt a righteous confusion within her, as if she didn't know what had happened.

Did she think she could cheat him with her inability to feel guilt when both of them knew what she had done? He didn't believe her to be that stupid. And how should she be able to cheat him? Just looking at her face he could easily read her mind. He didn't even have to use legilimency to accomplish that. He also had been a Death Eater and knew how a murderer looked like. And even to his trained eye she appeared to be innocent.

Maybe.. maybe what lay behind her façade was more complicated than he had thought.

Lucius poured himself yet another glass of fire whisky. The alcohol burned down his throat, and an exotic thought crawled into his mind…

He disliked her face, which was too pure and delicate for a mudblood. And that righteous expression! But who would have thought a person of such innocent a face could possess such pliable figure? He had felt it when she ran into him at the reception today. Her plain dress also failed to conceal her treasures: her petite, slim form and her pale skin. How he wanted to see the innocent, righteous Gryffindor mudblood being tainted with desire and lust! She was in no way gorgeous, stunning, or sexy, no she did not deserve those attributes. But her face, her limbs, and each inch of her skin looked as if she was solely designed to be conquered by him.

A cruel smirk slowly appeared on his lips.

_Savor your revenge like a dish served cold_

Author's Notes:

Hermione smelt like orchids because she was eating orchid petals. According to traditional Chinese Medicine, eating edible petals in the right amount can help women to keep fit, make their skin rosy, soft and smooth, and make them smell sweet. The natural scent has similarities to pheromones. For example, in my story only Lucius can smell Hermione's orchid scent and be impressed, while Hermione herself wasn't able to notice her own scent. Other people might smell it as well, but are not sensitive to it like Lucius is.

The orchid has a very important status in Chinese culture. I will expand on its symbolism in the last chapter.

Warning: if you want to eat flower petals, please consult a licensed doctor!


	10. Chapter 10 Orchid and Blood 2

**All my best sincere gratitude to warm-hearted Cruplette. Thank her for her brilliant beta skills!

* * *

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Chapter Ten Orchid and Blood

**Ⅱ**

Instantly Hermione arrived right in front of him, lying on the floor, at his feet. Lucius looked down at Hermione, who was in a deep sleep, almost as if in a coma when her necklace had transported here. Her eyebrows scowling, lips quivering, face contorted. She must be dreaming something horrible.

Lucius wanted to levitate her, but suddenly the girl began to struggle and scream. Levitating such a noisy creature and walking the long distance to his bedroom obviously wasn't such a good idea. So in disgust he cuddled the girl into his arms and disapparated to his bedroom.

As soon as they arrived inside the large chamber Lucius threw the girl onto his four-poster bed. Hermione kept on screaming and clenched the bedspread into her fist in a deadly grip.

"No, no! Don't kill them! No! Don't you dare to die on me! Please don't leave me!" Hermione shouted desperately in her sleep. She clawed the silk sheet until it was torn. Cold sweat formed on her forehead, and her clothes were sticking to her body. She was writhing on the bed, and kept on repeating the same desperate pleas.

Lucius's lips curled into an amused smile. At least the girl did feel the pain deeply in her heart.

Hermione cried out again:"No! Don't kill Ron! No! Don't kill him! Ron! Oh! Harry! No!" tears flowed through her closed eyelids, wetting her curly hair.

Lucius felt his rage again. She cried only for her damn little friends. She felt not even a bit guilty for her crime! "I must keep her in pain." thought Lucius. He put a sleeping charm on the girl to keep her in this nightmare for a good hour. He turned around, stalked out of the room and slammed the door behind him. _Keep her screaming_!

Hermione woke after her excruciating nightmare. Her clothes were soaked in cold sweat, and each nerve in her body burned alive with pain. It screamed and tore her body while Hermione was too exhausted to say a word. She lay still for a long time until some sense came back to her. Slowly she opened her eyes and all she saw was thick darkness.

Wearily Hermione closed her eyes and held the bedspread. It felt better when cold silk met her sweaty, hot skin.

_Wait a minute! Cold, silk… aren't I in my own bed_?

Hermione opened her eyes again and scanned the room. Her blurring view slowly cleared up. And then she saw the bedspread: Slytherin green with silver accents.

_Am I in that room…again_? Hurriedly Hermione looked down. To her relief, she still wore her crimson dress.

Just at this moment the door opened and Lucius Malfoy came in.

"Good night, Miss Granger." drawled Lucius.

_Night? How long have I been here.?_

Lucius seemed to know her thoughts. "Just twelve at midnight. Miss Granger, I still have time to finish what I left undone last time."

His words clenched Hermione's heart painfully."How…how did I get here? Did you somehow manage to transport me here?"

Lucius smiled smugly: "The necklace, Miss Granger. Do you know what a necklace symbolizes in magic?"

"I…don't know…and I don't want to know!" Hermione yelled uncomfortably.

"A necklace is a chain, and a chain … means permanent possession. This magical necklace symbolizes that you belong to me. You are my property, and as your master, I can summon you any time I like with just a flick of my wand."

A cold sliver ran down Hermione's back, making her feel dreadful with putrid foreboding. She had no wand on her to defend herself, and all her strength had been drained off. There was no way for her to fight him.

Lucius took off his gloves casually and put them on a nearby armchair. Then he put his hands behind his head and untied his black velvet bow, letting his long, moonlight colored silvery hair fall down his back in luscious waves. He moved to Hermione and bent down. His silky, long hair slid over his shoulders, framing his face like a curtain, separating the outside world from the two of them. In this blond small world Lucius sneered at her, and reached a hand out towards her hair.

Hermione expected him to clench her hair painfully, but instead found Lucius Malfoy leisurely pulling out her hair pins, one by one, untie her ribbons patiently, and let her lustrous brown hair cascade on the emerald silk pillow. His silky hair brushed Hermione's cheeks and made her breath stop in her throat.

"What … what you are doing?" Lucius's fingers began to unbutton her dress, exposing her perfect skin inch by inch.

"As I mentioned last time, I am exacting my revenge." Lucius began to work on her bra and knickers, leaving her naked. Afterwards he took the same night slip as last time, and slowly changed Hermione into it. "And I don't care."

Hermione felt sick. This was the same night slip he had dressed her in the last time she was here. The time when he had … The memories were too painful for Hermione, and she tried to stop the flood of impressions from searing through her mind. The night slip was a symbol of _taken_. _Taken_ by him. stripped of her dignity, her virtue, and marred by pain and hopelessness.

In her night slip she was no longer naked, but that didn't help her. The very garment itself represented her torture, and before a Lucius Malfoy dressed in layers of luxurious robes she felt very exposed and vulnerable.

"Why … why did you dress me again in this?"

"Your blood tainted it. My house elves cannot get the blood out."

Hermione looked down at the night slip: on the bottom of the front hem she saw was a light purple stain, formed like a little flower.

Lucius stiffened, and began to remove his robe, shirt and trousers. He folded his clothes one by one neatly and patiently, and then turned toward her.

"You are _mine_, Miss Granger, Hermione."

Lucius looked even more intimidating in the nude than dressed in his elegant robes. There was something about his naked body that exuded raw power and strength. There were no robes anymore hiding his impressively muscular, lithe, sinewy form. He walked to Hermione and slowly crawled on top of her.

"You owe me two lives and simply killing you is not enough. I will keep you alive, Hermione, just _barely_ alive. When I'm finished with you, you will hope that I'll allow you to die. I will break you, tear you apart, and make sure you can never put yourself back together again. So delicious, isn't it? I will humiliate you." He traced her lips with a cold, pale finger.

"Stop. Stop it!" Hermione couldn't help shaking badly, when Lucius' much larger form covered her completely, and made her breath come out in spasms.

'Would you have stopped had my Draco asked you?" Lucius bent down and inhaled deeply. _She smelt like orchid_…

Hermione forced herself to laugh out loudly.

"Is that what you are thinking, Mr. Malfoy?" she laughed poisonously, "It seems you really did not know you son very well! Would you really prefer your son, a 'noble' Malfoy, to beg his enemy for his life? May I tell you that your son never begged me before he died, though his was not a heroic death.

But I believe your son was a far better person than you, Mr. Malfoy! At least he wasn't a coward like his father who does everhthing to save his skin! Nor was he like his godfather, your best friend Snape! Severus is also a coward like you…"

Hermione couldn't finish her sentence, as Lucius' fingers pinched her nipples painfully, and made her shriek. Lucius cupped her breasts and laughed suddenly:

"You are still too young, my little mudblood, my delicious _Hermione_." the last word nearly as light as a lover's whisper. "As your superior in every way, I need to tell you this: First, never comment on something you no nothing about; second, I never have been and never will be a coward; third, you call me a coward, well then, let's see what this coward can do to you."

Lucius bent his head down to her neck and bit it hard, drawing blood, then licking the wound on Hermione's neck lazily. Hermione gasped in pain: not just his tongue could bite her! Then Lucius straddled himself on top of Hermione's body, and removed her night slip with excruciatingly slow movements.

"I love seeing you dressed in this night slip. As if darkness can swallow you in a moment. But what I love even more is … taking it off."

He appreciated her perfect skin: "You are so beautiful … no, perfect, even after I have _taken _you. As if you have been designed only for this one purpose: for me to take my revenge. It will make the act even more … enjoyable. I usually never sully myself with Mudbloods, but you are worth it, are you not?"

He ran his fingers all over her body to feel the delicate curves, the same way as Hermione would do to explore precious leather furniture. He leaned down and pressed his lips on her smooth skin. Feather-like kisses ghosted over Hermione's throat, her neck, collarbone, breasts, and her belly, making her body shiver with excitement.

Hermione felt a heat radiating from his lips, scorching through her skin, and spreading all throughout her system. Although her pain made her feel alive, now Hermione felt a different kind of fire traveling underneath her skin, making her light-headed. His kisses were like fuel which gradually burnt her shell into ashes, and her blood into wetness flowing down her thighs. It didn't feel good for her thighs to be so sticky, and unconsciously Hermione opened her legs a little.

Her inner rational voice shouted: "No! Don't let him win! It's so wrong and he will destroy you! Don't give in to him!" Confused by the conflict between her mind and body, Hermione desperately tried to turn away from him, but was stuck underneath his much larger and heavy body. She turned her head and buried her face into the pillow. She tried so hard to suppress her body's reaction that her nails clenched into her palm and drew blood.

Lucius smirked at the girl under him, who was in the control of a strange lust and entirely helpless. She was so innocent, not knowing the power of lust.

"Open your eyes, my little mudblood. You cannot escape this." He opened her legs wider with his knees. He wedged himself between them, and put one finger on her sensitive bud, letting her juices flow.

Hermione gasped slightly when she felt a smooth finger lazily encircling her mound, and then sliding into her soft flesh. She felt like she was in a small boat on a boisterous grey ocean, and his fingers send waves over the sea. It felt so thrilling falling down from the peak of the wave, and flying right through the air. But it was dangerous at the same time. You might end up falling into the water and drowning in the bottomless pit of the ocean. Hermione grasped her boat which was her mind tightly and managed to keep it from sinking.

Sweat pearls formed on her forehead. A wine-colored shade flushed over her cheeks, making her look intoxicating. Her full, red lips parted lightly, and her breathing became shallow. Her eyes were covered with a mist of lust, and glinted in the candlelight.

Lucius smirked, added a second finger in her hot core, and watched Hermione's breath becoming faster, and more labored.

"You're enjoying this, don't you?"

Hermione' breath became shallow. She tried burying her face deeper into the pillow.

"Your body is betraying you."

Hermione's breath became ragged. But she managed to shake her head.

"Don't deny it, girl. Now scream my name. Scream my name, and admit to the world who is giving you such pleasure!"

Hermione felt so desperate. Her body's reaction was so strong and she wasn't sure if she could control it. Wave after wave washed along under her boat, but she managed to hold on to it.

"Scream my name like a good girl."

A big wave came to her but she was still on to her boat.

"Scream my name and I will reward you."

Another big wave crept up to her, shattering through her, and causing her to loosen the iron grip on her boat she was trying to maintain. It felt as if she was finally falling out, and she readied herself for the inevitable drowning in Lucius' rough ocean. But thank goodness, she still felt the boat around her. She had not fallen out. She was still very much sitting right in it!

"Scream my name! Scream 'Lucius'! Scream!"

Hermione managed to cling to her boat with all her strength. A bigger wave came to her and threatened to swallow her.

A voice came out and Hermione believed it was her own voice.

"Hermione … Hermione Granger … Hermione Jane Granger …"

Lucius stopped to study Hermione's face.

"I didn't know you were so narcissistic." He chuckled huskily.

"Not narcissistic … just remind me …"She whispered between gasps, her chest flowed up and down.

"Remind you of what?" he looked into Hermione's eyes.

The mist of lust in Hermione's eyes faded suddenly. Deep in her brown eyes there was a clear spring.

"I'm just… Hermione Jane Granger, not a toy … Lucius Malfoy can play, taunt and break!"

Hermione felt Lucius stifening. She lay still under him silently. The ocean suddenly became placid. Under the surface great vortexes were forming.

They entwined together in silence for a long, long moment. Hermione could clearly hear her heartbeat. She could also hear the other heart beating in its master's rib cage wildly: _bang, bang, bang_.

Then in the next moment Hermione felt Lucius's lips pressed on hers and…

"Oooooow!" The biggest wave of all swallowed her boat and threw Hermione into the cold seawater. The ocean played her, pushed her onto the top of waves and threw her down relentlessly. She dropped into the wave's hollow and was pushed up again. Hermione could feel nothing but at the same she felt everything: everything about him! His eyes, his hand, his mouth on her breasts and his… he hurt her! He didn't lie: he was a master of causing pain. She felt him thrust into her roughly, and stretching her beyond her limit. She felt her blood trickling onto the soft bedsheets.

She lifted her arms and wanted to beat him. But instead she found her arms wrapped around his broad back and scratching it.

In severe pain her mouth found Lucius' shoulder and bit down hard…

He didn't stop. Instead he assaulted her body harder.

"Now know my power, girl!" he growled, his mouth sucking her breast, his one hand gripping her hip, the other roamed around her body, bruising her skin mercilessly.

Hermione whimpered. He was so huge! He thrust into her so deep that she felt he would pierce her. But at the same time she felt the burning sensation again: it almost felt pleasurable! No, it _was_ pleasure. She felt him hitting hard at the spots she hadn't even known existed. These spots exploded in ecstasy, and intense waves of pleasure washed all over her again and again. It was so insufferable, and Hermione moaned louder and louder. But she didn't know whether she was moaning from being in pain, or for the pleasure which was sugar-coating the pain.

The pain was so unbearable, but maybe she was able to adjust to it and love it.

She felt so light, as if she floated in the air. But she was still very much located right here on earth, at least her body. Her soul floated airily while her body was pressed heavily into the mattress by Lucius' exhausting but also delicious weight.

"Now I think you can shoult my name, my girl…"

_Who is speaking? What does he mean?_

"Call out my name 'Lucius', my dear Hermione."

_Lucius? What does it mean? Whose name it is? And who is Hermione?_

"Call out my name, 'Lucius'!"

In a split second she knew: _it had no meaning. Just say it then._

"Lucius?" she whispered.

"Good. Louder…"

"Lucius?" she half-shouted.

"Louder…"

"Lucius!" she screamed.

"All right. Just like this. Keep screaming it. Louder!"

"Lucius, Lucius, Lucius… …"

Wave after wave came to her and swallowed her entirely. Hermione forgot who she was, who the man on her was. She didn't know how to escape the pain, didn't know how to think. She even didn't know what to say. Because of pain or pleasure, like someone drowning caught a straw, Hermione could only cling to the body on top of her for dear life, and scream the only word now she knew again and again…

"Lucius!"

Hermione's body fell back down onto the earth hard and broke into a thousand pieces, when at that same time the rational Hermione awoke.

She found herself underneath a strong man. That man in question was panting and moving inside her. Their sweaty bodies sticking to each other. She heard the man say something but didn't understand it.

Suddenly her senses came back to her, and she remembered what Lucius Malfoy had done to her.

_I…I let him take me… I…I didn't fight him. I…I held onto him and screamed his name. I did as he said._

**You are too weak to fight him**_**.**_

_But…That's not an excuse! I should be stronger and I…I even enjoyed it!_

A single tear dropped down and ran to her neck.

_I let him defeat me. I let him dominate me. I let him possess me…Now he can really humiliate me and I…I'm his._

Hermione felt something hot and wet enter her. Lucius collapsed on top of her, drew out, and fell onto the space beside her. She felt him extending an arm to her.

Hermione found her voice. It said:

"You win. Now kill me."

Lucius felt exhausted. Complete exhaustion from tiredness, pleasure, triumph and…possession.

Who could have known her mudblood body could fit his so perfectly? Her skin was soft as petals. She smelt like orchids--fresh and elegant--with a light smell of blood. From then on Lucius could never separate the smell of orchid and blood: they were only _hers_. There was nothing that could make Lucius Malfoy feel more superior than watching such a heart-strong girl beg him after desperate fighting. For him her "Lucius" was music and it turned him on. When he entered her he felt him completely fill her. An ultimate possession. As if her little body was _his_ completely.

She was his. Now he was the only man who could destroy her or…save her, if he liked.

Slowly he withdrew from her and lay beside her.

He extended an arm to her. He didn't know what he wanted to do. Pulling her nearer or pushing her onto the floor? What should he do to such a girl, his enemy who just now brought such bliss for him?

Just then he heard her voice:

"You win, Now kill me."

Her voice was blank. Blank as a ground covered with thick snow, and everything you could see was blank.

He turned to see her face. Although tears were still on her cheeks, her face was devout of emotion.

Neither ashamed, bitter nor excited, or pleased. Not any expression he had expected.

Just blank. Her face glowed in the candlelight, but she looked dead. The light from the candle reflected in her eyes, but there was no fire. Blank. Empty. Dead.

Lucius raised an eyebrow. He still hated her. But he said he would keep her alive, especially after what they had just done. And if she really wanted to die, he would certainly not oblige her. Some time ago he had wanted to kill her, but no longer felt any urge for it, especially not if she was asking him to.

He abandoned her body and dressed himself, but Hermione did not watch his actions, never looking at him. At last he stepped out of the room and left her alone.

A fireplace was in the corner. She knew what to do.

Hermione saw him dress himself. His ritual was measured and composed. As if nothing had happened.

She heard the door being opened, then slammed shut. Now she lay on the bed, still. But her mind began to run rapidly. Everything since the end of the war came back to her, flashing vividly right in front of her eyes.

The death of her friends.

The death of her parents.

Ginny's coma.

Her loneliness.

Being _taken_.

Ginny's waking, her second hope.

Her conversation with Dumbledore.

And now she becoming _his_.

These conflicting memories, bitter, mirthless, or comfortable, poured into her in a split second. Hermione felt miserable and utterly desperate. These memories ate her soul and left a void. Hermione thought tears would pour from that void. But all she felt was dull pain and numbness.

That moment then Hermione realized that one had no tears when being beyond agony.

Lying in silence for a long time, Hermione didn't recover from her agony. Instead, her determination to die just intensified. Distantly she wondered why Lucius Malfoy had not killed her. Then she remembered his words: he wanted her ashamed to die.

_Did he want me to kill myself? All right_…

Hermione's feet found the way to the bathroom. She entered the shower and began to bathe herself carefully.

When warm water was rushing all over her body from the above showerhead, Hermione relished in the relaxing feeling, and quieted down. The water cleansed her, and her usually always busy mind became calm and clear. She did not regret her earlier decision to commit suicide. Somehow, since the war, she subconsciously had just been waiting for the right moment. After all that she had lost the suffering was too much now, and she was too lonely.

And Lucius Malfoy had just _taken_ her twice. The first time had pushed her nearly over the edge, if Ginny had not been there. Hermione thought she might have killed herself already earlier, had it not been for Ginny needing her.

But this time…she really didn't want her life to continue. Ginny didn't need her anymore. Ginny couldn't even recognize her. Ginny would not be sad for her death. Hermione felt at ease knowing there was nobody who needed her. Nobody would be hurt by her suicide. It would not matter to anybody.

In other words, in the living world Hermione had no concern or responsibility. There was nobody for her to live for, and she did not even want to live for her own self anymore.

Hermione dried herself with a towel. She didn't care if the towel belonged to him. Actually now she did care for nothing but her cleanliness. She wanted a clean death, wanted to be clean for her leaving the world.

She used a hair-dryer, and put on her crimson dress. It was a pity that her dress was damp. But Hermione felt the dress perfectly fit the occasion: crimson, the color of blood.

Gathering her hair-pins and ribbons, with a silver comb encased with emeralds she tied her hair into a graceful bun.

Finding a razor with gold handle, she carefully slit open her left wrist with it. Afraid it was not enough, she added another cut. Crimson blood started to flow out of her wounds.

Gradually blood drained her of her strength and body heat. Hermione felt so fatigued, and cold. She just wanted a good sleep.

The marble floor in the bathroom was too cold. But by no means would she go back into _his _bedroom and lie on _his_ bed.

So she just let herself fall onto the soft bathroom rug that covered the cold tile floor.

Lucius glanced at his watch impatiently. It had been a good hour since he left his bedroom and now he wanted to go back. He didn't know if Hermione had left. At her last visit, she had taken a shower when he was done with her, so he allowed her some time for her ablutions. But one hour should be enough.

He opened the door and smelt a strong scent of blood with light orchid aroma. Alert he ran into the bedroom, searching for Hermione, but she was nowhere around. Then he entered the bathroom. Looking down he saw a small pool of blood and a rug with blood. On the rug lay Hermione. She had deep wounds on her left wrist with crimson blood gushing out, but her lips were carrying a small smile.

For a moment Lucius stood in utter shock. Then he ran to her and bent down. He healed her wounds with magic, but she had already lost a lot of blood. He raised his wand and summoned the First Aid Kit from the bathroom cabinet. He took the Blood Supplement Potion out, and poured the whole content of the purple vial down her throat. He felt confused and angry.

How dared she trying to die in his house? And why did she think she had nothing to live for anymore?

After he found out how Hermione had dealt with Delores Umbridge at Hogwarts in her 5th year, Lucius had always thought this girl to be highly cunning and quick-witted, just like a Slytherin. But now he realized the girl was really a foolish Gryffindor who valued dignity and ethic more than life.

And…how dared she try to die after what they had just done? After the pleasure the two of them had just shared? No, Lucius no longer wanted death for her, so she had to live, anyhow and any way.

He watched Hermione's face becoming slightly pinker, and knew she was coming around, back to life. Using the necklace he had given her, he sent her back home.

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Author's Note: If you happen to read and enjoy it, Could you leave a review, please? Tell me what you think about it!


	11. Chapter 11 Live for my lost

All best wishes to my kind and warm-hearted beta reader **Crumplette. **Thanks for her wonderful beta skills.

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Chapter Eleven Live for my lost

Light shot though her eyelids liked daggers. Hermione squeezed her eyes.

Tired, she felt so tired. She only wanted to sleep sweetly in peace, but unfortunately her dreams were tormented indefinitely by that horrible, true nightmare searing through her brain.

A blood-bled nightmare.

_Why can I remember every detail of my nightmare? Why does my nightmare seem real?_

_And why does my wrist hurt so much?_

Placing her left hand on her eyes, Hermione opened her eyes slowly. The first thing she noticed were the scars on her wrist.

Scars. Two. Thin, grey lines. They seemed so ugly on her porcelain skin wrist. Hermione didn't dare looking at them.

_I'm alive._

The last night flashed in front of her. She remembered she shed so much blood, enough to cause her death.

Someone must have saved her. She believed it was him.

Somehow she remembered a joke that Lavender Brown once shared: 'Never slit your wrist when you really want to die, for if your attempt fails, the ugly scar will stay forever with you as a reminder of your idiocy and cowardice.'

Lucius should have been able to heal the wounds without leaving any scars behind. She recognized the scars on her wrist as his warning to her not to try to take her life again. She belonged to him, and her life was at his mercy. He didn't allow her to die. He wanted her alive, feeling everything she had lost, and everything he was doing to her. He wanted her life to be a living hell.

"Malfoy, who are you to think that I won't attempt suicide again when all I really want is to die?" Hermione said to herself.

Then what else was there for her to do? Find another knife and slit her wrist again? Or use her wand?

Hermione removed her hands when a glare of sunlight came through the window, and shot to her face.

Sunshine! So warm, so bright and so lively! In the dazzling, blinding light Hermione could see nothing, as if in darkness. But not the same at all! The sunshine was injected into her body, and fired her life again. Suddenly her senses became very sharp: She saw the sunshine, so pure and bright; she heard the song of birds and breezes, so brisk and wonderful; she smelt the aroma of roses and peonies, which made her feel so hungry and she recalled that she didn't eat much yesterday. Hermione felt her tears flowing out. Her tears felt so warm, just like the sunlight, such a contrast on her cold skin.

She feared cold. Since she slit her wrist last night, everything seemed to drain her of her heat, even the rug. That cold felt as if she was sinking down to the deepest death through a frozen sea. Now Hermione wanted to never feel cold again.

Basking in the sunlight, and feeling the warmth and liveliness of the world around her, Hermione suddenly realized she did not want to die at all. She only felt so tired, so limp, so completely devout of all energy. "Maybe next time…" Hermione sunk into her bed and indulged herself in comforting warmth for a moment.

The following days found Hermione in a trance. The first two days she had just stayed in her bed. A small voice inside her head would tell her what to do. The voice said: "Time to wake up", and she opened her eyes. The voice said "Time to eat", and she ate some honey from a jar on the bed stand. The voice said "Time to drink", and she drank some water from a glass on the table. And when the voice said "Time to sleep", she lay back down on the bed again, waiting for sleep to take her away.

Two days later she was able to leave her bed again. She could even perform common activities, like reading, house chores, and alike. She was able to see, hear, smell, touch, but she just couldn't _feel _anything within those sensory impressions. She just followed the commands her inner voice gave her. Oddly enough though, the voice never said "Time to die". She didn't try to take her life again, but she didn't know the reason why.

She followed the commands of her inner voice mechanically, like a robot, without realizing what she was doing. On Saturday morning, the voice said "Time for Ginny". She slowly got up, took a long soothing bath, dressed, and threw some floo-powder into the fireplace to visit St. Mungo's.

She was barely aware of her surroundings until a familiar voice called out to her:

"Hermione!"

The voice drew Hermione out of her daydream stupor. It was the first voice she heard other than the voice in her mind. Hermione slowly turned around. On the bed in the patient room at St. Mungo's sat a pale Ginny with a genuine smile on her face.

"Ginny?" whispered Hermione. Her voice was still so small.

"Are you really Hermione?" asked Ginny.

"Ginny?" asked Hermione again. Her voice rose at the sight of Ginny being awake and alive.

"Hermione?" shouted Ginny.

"Can you…recognize me? Who am I? And how do you know you are Ginny?" Hermione's voice quivered hoarsely. _Was she all right?_

"Oh, I don't know. The healers and nurses told me that a woman named Hermione came to see me every Saturday. And they told me my name is Ginny. So… I think I'm Ginny." Ginny gave her an innocent smile.

"Can you remember anything else? For example, how old you are, which school you went to and…"

"No. I don't remember anything from my life. I just know what people have told me so far."

Hermione felt her headache again. She didn't know how to respond to Ginny's condition, whether to feel happy or sad. Happy that she did not remember any of the traumatic experiences of losing every member of her beloved family, or sad that she had lost all her good memories as well.

But she was awake. A miracle: After all this time Ginny had finally woken up! She was awake, and alive, and that was all what counted to Hermione. A moment later she found her voice again:

"Then… how do you know that I am Hermione?"

"You are the only person who came to visit me other than healers and nurses. And… believe or not, even though I am now seing you for the first time, I somehow felt something like … familiarity. I can sense that you feel friendliness, and kindness towards me. It seems as if you really care about me. You are not part of my family, are you?"

"No, I am … not."

"Then we must have been very close, and very good friends! People have told me you have been coming faithfully to visit me every weekend since the last year. They say I am very lucky because there are some patients here in special wards who have not received visitors for several years! People told me I have been asleep for almost a year. So, hello Hermione, come on in! Let me have a good look at you!"

Hermione walked towards Ginny and sat beside her on her bed. Ginny held her hands out to Hermione, and studied her face carefully.

"Hermione, you look so pale. Did you have a bad night?"

"No, no. I'm all right." Hermione quickly hid her scarred wrist under her robe.

"How have you been doing recently? The people here told me you were very worried about me when the healers informed you I might never wake up. I hope that I have not caused you too much pain and sleepless nights…"

"Don't worry about me, I'm fine. And you did wake up again, which I am very happy about. Everything is going well for me, so no sweat." Hermione forced a small smile.

"Yes. And I'm sure that everything will get better. You'll see." Ginny told her sincerely.

Those words were well known to Hermione. She remembered them vividly: it was the motto of the Weasley family _"Everything will get better"_. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley always used to say it to make everybody feel better during difficult times, which had been pretty much all the time. The twins George and Fred had continued the tradition, and her Ron had said it as well. Bill and Charlie had also resorted to the family motto on occasion. Even Percy Weasley used it during his speech at his inauguration as Interim Minister. But then, after two months in office he was killed, three days before his wedding.

_Yes, everything will be better, Ginny, eventually. But as of right now I really cannot believe it._

Hermione felt bile rising in her stomach, and something hot, acidic choked her. The next second she fell onto Ginny's lap and burst into tears.

"Don't cry. Everything will be better." Ginny held her gently, and patted her back.

"I'm fine. I'm fine. You are right, everything will be better." sobbed Hermione into Ginny's chest, her tears wetting Ginny's green dress. Now Hermione knew what she would live for: for Ginny, for herself, for her lost friends, even for Lucius Malfoy, whom she vowed to watch assuming his rightful place in hell one fine day.


	12. Chapter 12 Brushing past

**Thank Crumplette for her patient and wonderful beta-work!

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**

Chapter Twelve - Brushing Past

Hermione had made up her mind: she had to rid herself of Lucius Malfoy, at all expense.

The best way was probably to send him back to Azkaban. The question was just: how?

The natural response to that question was of course: RAPE. After all, he had raped her, and not just once. Hermione scribbled the word on the parchment in front of her. The second she put down her quill and looked at what she had written she realized, she had no evidence. She had immediately after the despicable act ran to the bathroom in Malfoy Manor and washed away his seed. She had felt so soiled and abused, she had not even realized that while trying to cleanse herself of all that was him she had basically destroyed the only evidence of his act. And now it was too late. She crossed the word out on the parchment. In her disappointment she pressed the quill hard on the paper and moved it so furiously, it ripped the parchment.

Then she wrote down her second option: DEATH EATER. She stared at the words for a second, when she realized it was ridiculous. Because of the law proposed by her, Lucius Malfoy's Death Eater crimes had been washed away, and he had left his war criminal trial a free man. If she accused him now of having been a Death Eater, she could easily imagine Lucius Malfoy drawling she was just trying to frame him because her own law had allowed him to claim his innocence. She knew him well enough to reliably predict his reaction to be nothing but shameless.

Both of the obvious accusations would not work. Now what? Hermione thought about how Lucius Malfoy might operate on a day to day basis. How about ….. FINANCIAL CRIMES? She was sure Lucius Malfoy had greased the hands of many Ministry officials in the past, and was certainly still doing it at the present to continuously keep his reputation free of stains. But the problem was again evidence. Collecting material evidence of any bribery Malfoy had committed would be nigh impossible, since he surely would not have filed any official records. And the Goblins at Gringott's would never speak about, let alone give out any material information concerning their clients' financial dealings. Additionally nobody would talk to her about their dealings with Lucius Malfoy. As soon as she started to ask questions, she was sure a lot of powerful officials in the Ministry would feel attacked, and do their best to prevent her from digging anything up to avoid being compromised. But without evidence who would believe her?

Evidence was the key in any potential accusation. And in Lucius Malfoy's case, it seemed whatever crime he had committed, there was no way for her to produce any evidence at all.

No evidence! No evidence! No evidence!

It was so frustrating. Three hours later, faced with a stained parchment, Hermione stared at it blankly. She bit her lip hard and tasted her blood, which was so bitter.

Not that she hadn't realized before Lucius Malfoy was such a dangerous enemy. However, not until now, did she realize her own helplessness and weakness.

Hermione tried her best to contemplate other crimes Lucius Malfoy could have had a hand in, but anything she could come up with was too small to get him sent to Azkaban for a life sentence. And the only chance she had to successfully get rid of him was to send him away for life. Any non-life sentence meant he was released again at some point in time, and would without a doubt take fierce revenge on her for getting him locked up! And by no means would he stop at simply hurting or torturing her. No. If she was the cause for him to spend time in Azkaban again, she was signing her very own, albeit delayed, death sentence!

He could even include Ginny in his wrath, since he knew she had been her dear friend at Hogwarts.

No, only a life sentence for Lucius Malfoy would do!

Bitter tears came out. _Hermione, don't cry! _She told herself. _You must think of a way to get rid of him! And when did you become so weak_?

Hermione drew a vertical line next to her list of words. On the right side of the paper, she knew she only had one idea to put down:

Kill him by herself.

Was she capable to pulling that off?

Lucius Malfoy was a powerful wizard, a dark wizard, a pureblood wizard, and a former Death Eater. He must know more about magic, especially dark magic than she did, most likely a lot more. It was true, due to her intense studies at Hogwarts and afterwards she had much more knowledge than her peers, even than people who were 10 years her seniors, but Lucius Malfoy had to be at least twenty years older than her. And he was studious himself. She had to assume his knowledge to be far more extensive than her own. Additionally his time as Voldemort's right hand man most likely had enabled him to gather a plethora of experience in both dark and other magic. Hermione was a powerful witch with strong magic, but Malfoy not only had equal magical power, he also had about 20 more years of knowledge and experience.

Physically Lucius Malfoy was also stronger than her. Even in her healthiest time she was weaker than him, much more so now in her current condition. He could simply strangle her even with bare hands; she knew he could. She could easily imagine his hands clasping around her throat, squeezing it, and cutting off her last breath.

Even if these facts were inconsequential, the crucial question was: how?

How was she to approach him, how to disarm him, how to kill him?

HOW?

And also …

WHERE?

Should she kill him at a public place or at his home? Any public place was too uncertain. She would get caught and sent to Azkaban herself. The thought of doing justice and ending up with a life in prison herself was so unfair. She most likely could manage to obtain an early release due to good behavior, but her reputation which as a Gryffindor was almost more valuable than her life itself, would be irrevocably destroyed forever. No, that was not an option for Hermione to pursue.

Should she kill him at his home instead? Malfoy Manor was protected with centuries of security wards, which she did not know, and was not able to find out anything about. Even if she was able to circumvent the wards, did she stand a chance in outdoing Lucius in his own space, where he knew every corner and every closet, and she herself knew nothing? And Lucius of course would not stand by idly as she tried to kill him. No. He undoubtedly would retaliate, and kill her in return. Again this was a clear no.

Infamy or Death. She did not like the first, but the latter was no option for her either.

Hermione recalled the tale about the peacock: hunters used to first lure peacocks into a mire, then dampened and tainted their tail feather. Fearing to spoil their gorgeous tail feathers, the peacocks willing stayed still, and easily got caught by the hunters.

She was a peacock now.

_Do I really have no way to be free_? More tears fell down.

_Stop! Hermione, you fear him! Fearing him means handing him the key to destroy you!_

Financial crimes. Hermione determined to gather the evidence about his briberies and financial misdeeds, even if it took her ages or drew out vast amount of danger and trouble for her. She decided to do it, regardless of the expense to herself. After all, she was younger than Lucius Malfoy. She could outlive him, and have more time to gather evidence and exact revenge on him.

The next day Hermione visited the Department of Finance and Business. She decided to begin with tax statements. Any corruption had something to do with taxes, and she could easily get access to tax statements. She decided to collect what she needed, and leave as quickly as possible.

What Hermione didn't know was Lucius Malfoy routinely visited the Department of Finance and Business once per month. This time when he arrived at the Department, Lucius caught a glimpse of bushy brown hair which was so familiar to him. He wondered what she was doing here.

Lucius entered the office of the Department Director, and engaged him in the usual chitchat. Then he asked him casually:

"Right now, just as I was coming to your office I noticed a young woman who looks like the famous Miss Granger. It was her, wasn't it?"

"Yes, that was Hermione Granger." The director replied in mild surprise.

"The splendid heroine Granger?" Lucius drawled elegantly, "She came to you with a brilliant proposal or another great idea, didn't she?"

The Director frowned. He had just been promoted up to this position two months ago. He didn't know much about the murky, shady under the table deals which were part of life at the Ministry, but Lucius Malfoy's name had always stood out, with his long and pure bloodline, his money and the miraculous luck of surviving the two great wars plus the following trials with an intact reputation. "No. Actually, she wants a job in my department."

Lucius raised one eyebrow.

"Good luck on having a war heroine as your inferior."

"Actually I don't want to give her the work." The director explained.

"What's there to worry about. I hear she is a very clever woman. The brightest witch at her age. "

"I don't think she is capable to do the job. She needs knowledge and experience in finance."

"Yes." Lucius smirked," I heard she had been studying to become a healer. Oh, may I ask which position she applied for?"

The young director looked over Lucius's shoulder: "she asked to become the conservator of the archive."

"What do you know. I would never have thought such a famous, accomplished, and intelligent young lady would lower herself to work as a common conservator."

"She said her health doesn't allow her to continue with her healer job." The director answered. Then he added "I really don't think she is capable of performing well in the position she asked me for without any prior knowledge and experience. Additionally there is the .." the director paused slightly "social impact of her parentage, and many other things." Lucius sneered thoughtfully. Everyone knew the Minister, he corrected himself: the _toad_ doesn't appreciate the girl much. The Director continued "It sounds as if she really wants the job though. She said she was nearly bored to death at home. She even pleaded to allow her a trial period without pay. She said she does not need the money, she just wants to work."

"Dear me, such a work hungry girl!" Lucius exclaimed with a slight sarcastic undertone. Then he placed a surprised look on his face "Oh my, where did the time go. Brian, I am sorry but I have to cut this short, as other business is beckoning me. Good-bye." In a haste Lucius left the office. An idea had just formed in his mind. Interesting, he mused to himself, the little mudblood must really desperately want that particular job. The question is just … why? Why should a brilliant witch like Hermione Granger, whose qualifications could get her many jobs with great pay and career prospects be so desperate for a low job such as this one? That was more than suspicious. There's something I am missing here….. The financial archives…. Suddenly he snapped his fingers. The girl must be planning something against him!

Hermione was very disappointed she had failed to get the job at the financial archives. As there was no other way for her to access the archives, she decided to collect other evidence about Malfoy. But what? She went through her knowledge of Lucius Malfoy, and one subject stood out: Dark Arts. He must be an accomplished Master of the Dark Arts, and own many dark magical artifacts. That should give her a venue to investigate.

The next day Hermione used appearance altering spells to disguise her as an old witch, went to Knockturn Alley, and visited Borgin & Burke's. There she told the shopkeeper she planned to murder a man who had seduced her daughter, and inquired about suitable dark artifacts, their origin and their previous owners. The clerk did not seem to trust her entirely, but he did leak out some information at the end. Hermione thought this time she had faired better than when she had tried to inquire here about Draco Malfoy in her fifth year.

When she arrived at the junction of Knockturn Alley and Diagon Alley, a familiar platinum haired man appeared in her vicinity. In a panic Hermione kept her head down, and passed by him, hoping that he didn't recognize her.

Lucius didn't notice the old witch until an unmistakable orchid aroma reached his nostrils as she walked past him. This orchid aroma, so fresh and elegant, rang a loud bell in his mind. Such an aroma only belonged to _one particular girl_. Her smell!

Recognizing the direction the woman disappeared in, Lucius narrowed his eyes. This Gryffindor girl at such a dark and infamous place as Knockturn Alley …

_Hermione Granger_ tries to get into the _financial archives_…..

_Hermione Granger_ at _Knockturn Alley_…..

It didn't take much time for Lucius to put two and two together. The girl must be planning something against him!

He walked down Knockturn Alley, trying not to be noticed. A girl like Granger could not be familiar with this area, and must have just come from one of the places which were well-known not only among insiders, but also among the general public. It should not be too difficult to find the place the girl had visited.

He decided to start off his search at Borgin & Burke's, which was known by most people. This famous as much as infamous establishment would have been the best choice for a girl like Granger.

After his visit at the store Lucius strode along Knockturn Alley with his cane firmly in his hand. He wore an expressionless face while his mind worked fiercely.

He had found what he was looking for. Hermione Granger had visited Borgin & Burke's, and the old Mr. Borgin was only too obliging to tell Lucius everything he wanted to know at the sight of the small pouch of galleons Lucius held in front of his face. As he suspected, it seemed that Hermione Granger was investigating him. She was investigating his finances, and his involvement with the Dark Arts.

He had no doubt the girl planned to send him to Azkaban!

A cold shiver ran down Lucius's spine. He knew how much that girl hated him, very much hated him. What worried him was the way she went about to collect her evidence.

So patient, so unobtrusive, so effective, and oh so excellent! Had it not been for his apparent luck, Lucius would not have noticed for a long time.

She seemed to be determined to send him into the Hell forever. And her power and determination were two things Lucius only knew too well.

He had to stop her before everything went out of his control!

Author's Note: Thank you for reading my story! Please review!


	13. Chapter 13 No way to go

Best wishes to my kind and warm-hearted reader **Crumplette. **Thanks for her wonderful beta skills.

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Chapter Thirteen Nowhere to Go

Hermione returned to her home. But before she could contemplate her information she felt the necklace burning painfully and she was taken away in spinning colors…

Hermione landed heavily on ebony floor, the force blinded her momentarily. Opening her eyes she found in scare that the man stood over her with a sneer was none othr than Lucius Malfoy! She struggled to stand up but failed, which fueled her rage and fear: she was caught by him, again!

"Good afternoon, Miss Granger."

Hermione managed to look unafraid, concealing her fear. Has he found something? How can he find me?

"A pretty girl like you should never disguise yourself as an ugly old woman." Lucius waved his wand. Hermione shrieked in pain when she was forced into her original appearance:gray hair became brown and lustrous, tumid body became petite and slim, wrinkly skin became fair and smooth. Dressed in shabby, over-large robe, Hermione helplessly lay beside the feet of Lucius Malfoy, glaring at him angrily. Lucius smirked and drawled in his silken voice: "A pearl is buried in mud, isn't it?".

Lucius's exquisite cane was lifted. Hermione thought he would beat her ribs and clenched her eyes in fear. Instead Lucius brushed her hair from her face, the sharp teeth of the silver snake-head bit her face lightly. Pushing the cane under her chin, he forced her to look up to him:

"Then, why did you descend yourself to visit a dark shop like Borgin&Burke's today? A glorious Gryffindor shouldn't go to such a filthy place. Or," he traced the cane along her neck and stopped at her throat, "have you found the allure of dark?"

Restraining the urge to bite her lip, Hermione managed to look at him. He removed his cane and walked to another side..

"And why you did you try to get a job in the Department of Finance and Business? As far as I remember you wanted to become a healer? But I'm really impressed by your thirst for knowledge, Miss Granger. You even bothered to work without income."

Kneeling down Lucius gripped her chin to force her to look into his eyes.

"May I assume you are investigating me?" his smooth thumb brushed her cheek, satisfied to feel her skin quivering.

Hermione avoided his gaze and said nothing.

"Answer me." He gripped her tighter, his voice as smooth as it used to be.

Hermione couldn't tell him: he had known! She stiffened herself and defied: "I think you know my answer, Mr. Malfoy."

He chuckled and bonded her wrists with magic. Standing up he said casually: "I do know what you want to do. Send me to Azkaban."

Hermione couldn't help shouting: "Yes, I will! Someone like you deserves to rot there forever! You-"

She couldn't finish her words, for he pressed the cane into her harder. Hearing her gasp, Lucius chuckled again: "Then why don't you accuse me of rape? Because of your Gryffindor pride?"

The word "rape" stung her, she didn't want to answer him, but his eyes were burning into hers, and lying wasn't a good choice: "I have no evidence."

"Very well. I'm so happy to know you aren't foolish to show the world what you have done…" he pulled her collar to look into her eyes," Then you want to accuse me of the Dark Arts or a finance problem? Such a bold girl who doesn't worry about her time, her safety…"

Hermione fell she was thrown into water: she could tell that Lucius Malfoy were threatening her, even Ginny. She didn't know how he found her: she believed her disguise was flawless, but she never thought Lucius Malfoy turned out to be so intelligent! In despair she cried: "Yes, you found out! So what? Kill me! Curse me ! What can you do to me you coward!"

When hearing the word "coward", Lucius's blinked, but immediately his calm expression returned.

"No, Miss. Granger, I'm not stupid. I enjoy my peaceful, innocent life very much now. And I can find a better way to shut you up."

He knelt down, his silky hair tickled her neck. Playfully he put his gloved hand on her neck, under her shirt, and touched her collarbone.

As soon as she saw his wicked smile, she knew what he meant. Even before he touched her, her skin tingled and goose bumps came out. Each touch from his hand recalled the utter pain and humiliation. She screamed in scare before thinking: " How can you do this to a woman? Your wife-".

At least it saved her from his touch, because the next moment a severe slap fell on her face.

"How dare you!" Lucius snapped. His pale face turned red immediately. His calm expression also disappeared. Now he was clenching his teeth, his eyes burning. "How dare you mention her name! You murderer!"

"That wasn't me!" she cried, her words sounded stranger: all the same. He never cared.

Lucius gripped her collar to pull her face closer to his.

"But it was your useless, cruel lover." He hissed, "What he did to her is no better than what I did."

To his surprise, Hermione smiled proudly:

"Ron could never do such a thing." She said confidently. "We could never be so shameless."

Lucius gave her another slap.

"If you are a sick hypocrite, girl, I will think you are an utter idiot, a shameful victim by your so-called righteous, glorious", hypocritical, repulsive Order of the Phoenix." He gripped her throat, "Tell me, have you really experienced a war, have you known what is war? Do you know how low a man can descend in a war or you are too naïve to believe it?"

"Liar!" Hermione wanted to say more, but stopped: the Order had severe rules to forbid torture and abuse. However, she hadn't often faced battle. Those older Order members, especially Mrs. Weasley, didn't often allow them "young boys and girls" the dangerous missions. Especially the younger girls like her, Ginny, Luna, and sometimes even Tonks, even though she had been a fully trained auror. But she vividly remembered Harry's and Ron's faces always being as white as ash after returning from battles, and even Lupin had to stay outside for a long time trying to regain his composure after a battle before he was able to go inside to face his love Tonks and Teddy. Yes, Hermione thought in shame, she really didn't have much expertise.

"And you have the firsthand experience: you killed Draco."

Humiliation, anger, and fear flooded through her immediately, and she roared: "That was not me! It's all his fault, he is too weak!"

There was a long, long silence, and then Lucius gave her a third slap.

"Shameless." He snapped.

"You madman! How can I know he was too weak to stand a Stunning Curse!"

"Impossible! Draco can't be killed by a Stunning Curse."

"Then you hope your Draco was killed by Avada Kedavra? In fact he shot the curse at me! But I dodged it. A Malfoy couldn't be so weak, could he?" Hermione laughed poisonously: "And your precious Narcissa was killed by a Stinging Curse. What a shame. She was a tender narcissus in a green house, too tender to stand rain and wind, wasn't she?"

Lucius's eyebrows scowled. Hermione could only imagine his shock under his calm appearance.

"Don't forget it is you who killed them." he hissed darkly, "in her life she had never killed anyone, not even a mudblood, though they are so filthy. But what about you? How many people's blood is on your hand?"

His words really hit her nerves, but she concealed it: "That was war! That was Voldemort! And…" a malicious idea suddenly occurred to her: "you are their real murderer! If you hadn't followed Voldemort, they would not have died!"

Hermione gave him a bright smile. She could see his hand holding cane was trembling.

"I remember how she looked like in the Quidditch World Cup, an ethereal beauty." She didn't lie. She remembered how she peeked at Narcissa like a silly schoolgirl. The older woman, magnificent as a polished diamond, with all her grace and arrogance, made Hermione, a bushy-hair girl understood how fantastic it could be to be a beauty, which might be the reason why she applied so mush hair product for that Yule Ball.

Narcissa Malfoy was the first woman to make Hermione realize the meaning of "The autumn of beauty is beauty". "And Ron told me when he met your wife, she looked old, tired and haggard like a faded narcissus." she sighed.

Lucius's eyes narrowed. Hermione knew he must be very angry: she just mocked his helplessness as a husband. She decided to push him further.

"When your dear Draco cursed me, I could see he was scared. His hand was shaking terribly. It was thanks to his fear that I was able to doge his curse. It was his fear that killed him. He, a noble Malfoy was even unable to shoot an Unforgivable Curse."

Lucius clenched his cane. Hermione chuckled.

"They all died, but you are alive, for you are more timid and cowardly than them! At least they faced their death! And you think it is only you who lost all he had! No! Because of your Dark Lord I lost all my friends!" Hermione couldn't help her tears. "All my friends! All my family! I don't think you have other friends and family except for Draco, Narcissa and Snape! Your friends and family are human beings, so are mine! I don't care if they are muggle, muggle-born, half-blood, or blood-traitor, not like you! So your loss is nothing to mine! But I must live strongly for I know I deserve them! Your family must hate you because you lead them to death! You don't deserve them!"

Hermione gave out her poisonous, satisfied laughter.

"I think it is time for you to realize it. Don't cheat yourself more, Malfoy. It is you who killed them, for your precious Dark Lord. "

With a howl like a hurt animal, Lucius pushed her onto the floor forcefully. The hard floor hurt her back and before she could shrieked, he had climbed on top of her:

"How dare you imply I'm that madman's dog! I have never been that dirty half-blood's servant!" He bit her neck hard.

"You know he is-" she said but was cut off by the pain.

"I know! So what? Such a naïve, stupid, righteous, unafraid, light Phoenix. You don't know what life I have! And you dare to say I'm their murderer! You are sickeningly naïve, never knowing what is lie, betrayal and-".

Sharp pain attacked her body, Hermione desperately tried to fight against, but the "lie, betrayal" hit her nerve, made her heart ache severely. Just a moment later, Lucius had torn her shirt. Her upper body emerged and immediately faced attacks from his teeth and hands. His body pressed her, pinned her, trapped her, leaving no way to go.

In utter despair and humiliation, Hermione cried out: "Kill me! Then kill me!"

She didn't know why, but immediately Lucius froze. Slowly he lifted his head and stared at her eyes for a long, long moment.

"I won't." he said.

~*~

Lucius dressed her and sent her back home by floo. As soon as she returned to her place, Hermione packed a small travel bag and flooed to Mrs. Tonks house. She had to get away for a couple of days to a place where she felt safe. On arrival she made up an excuse and asked Mrs. Tonks whether she could stay for some days. Mrs. Tonks felt surprised at Hermione's plea, but she didn't show it.

"All right, dear. You need to rest, and relax." Mrs. Tonks said kindly when she led Hermione upstairs, "Would you like to stay at your old room?"

Not wanting to be alone, Hermione answered quickly:" No, I can sleep in Teddy's room. That's fine."

She had another reason to visit Mrs. Tonks: she had to find out everything about the necklace. Maybe the older woman had encountered such an item at sometime during her life before. At supper Hermione pulled out the necklace and asked Mrs. Tonks casually: "Mrs. Tonks, have you seen such a necklace before?'

Mrs. Tonks leaned forward, and carefully took it from Hermione's outstretched hands to examine it closely.

"No." she muttered, looking at it thoughtfully.

Hermione nearly shrieked: "How do you think it looks like? Have you seen something like this before?"

"How exquisite, how beautiful-" She muttered admiringly, "It's been a long time since I have seen an intricate piece of jewelry such as this, Hermione." Mrs. Tonks turned to her with inquisitive eyes, "How did you get it?"

Today's kelp soup was so hot that the bowl nearly slipped from Hermione's hand.

"Er-" she couldn't speak, her face flushing. Luckily, Mrs. Tonks seemed not to notice it. She just smiled: "It is priceless"

An unspoken fear wrapped around her: Mrs. Tonks came from the wealthy Noble And Most Ancient House Of Black, and even she only seemed to recognize its physical value, not voicing any hint at knowledge about the magical use of the necklace. Hermione didn't believe that Mrs. Tonks would take advantage of her, but she just felt Mrs. Tonks acted so strangely. "Does she know something that I don't?" Hermione thought, and finished her supper in silence.

That night she slept on Tiny Teddy's room. The heavy covers secured her, and soon she felt the weight of sleep falling on her. She slept until nine o'clock the next morning. She felt a little sore and tired: her bed was too soft. Oddly, the soreness gave her a strange satisfaction.

She went to give Tiny Teddy a morning kiss, and immediately Teddy woke up. He smiled lazily and cuddled with her, buried his face in her chest. Tiny Teddy had no mother, so he liked women to hug him very much. He nuzzled sweetly, and suddenly said:"You smell differently."

Hermione smiled: "Of course. I haven't taken a shower yet." Teddy frowned at her answer, but didn't say anything further.

She stayed with Mrs. Tonks and Teddy for one week, and decided to return home. Everything went well until the midnight, when she felt the familiar pressure. But this time she opened her eyes and found she wasn't in her own house. She was pressed in the familiar four-poster bed and the one on top of her was no other than Lucius Malfoy.

"You-" she wanted to scream, but as she opened her mouth, a sweet moan escaped. A strange and strong sensation spread inside her, making her unable to speak.

"Yes, me." Lucius chuckled huskily, his member moving crazily inside her body, " Wrong. I wrong, you wrong, we all wrong." He bent down to nibble her neck and heard her moans, "You are right. But because of you I lost all I have. No, because of that bloody Order of the Phoenix. But you are the last living Phoenix, I have to avenge myself on you, you alone. Blame it on your loneliness, Hermione."

After more thrusts, he grunted, pushed up and bit her neck hard. Hermione felt her inside clenched and couldn't help screaming. Soon his scream joined hers.


	14. Chapter 14 Her Tears

**Thank Crumplette for her wonderful beta-work!

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Chapter Fourteen - Her Tears I

One common June night, through quaint silk curtained windows bright moonlight filled the master bedroom of Malfoy Manor. On the gorgeous four-poster bed, under heavy, cool silk covers, in Lucius Malfoy's strong arms, Hermione Granger struggled with the heavy sleepiness, trying to keep her eyes open.

Since one month ago when she first was kidnapped to Malfoy Manor, Lucius Malfoy had continued summoning her to his bedroom, taking her every night. Long, consuming sessions. And the next morning she would wake up in her own bed, not knowing how she had returned. Only her soreness told her what had happened, but even that seemed like a nightmare. A too-real nightmare.

But even in nightmares she had never feared anything as much as she feared him or herself.

Hermione had thought she had enough knowledge about pain. After all, she had survived a war, facing the Cruciatus, and other curses. Not until now did she realize her knowledge was so small.

Lucius said he was a master of pain, and it was true. She did everything she could to stop him, pleading, begging, insults, and fighting like the soldier she should be, under his superior height, weight, strength, and temptation.

She wanted to make herself become like ice: hard, cold, nonchalance. But he was fire. That was strange because Gryffindor should be fire while Slytherin should be ice. She didn't know what he did to her body, why he seemed to understand her body more and was capable of communicating with it directly. Like fire thawed ice, her body thawed into soft, warm water for him, while his stone-hard body crushed her, and his hot skin ruthlessly hurt her skin. His hands, which had killed, tortured and hurt an only-Merlin-knows number of people, both savored and tortured her skin. And his manhood, yes, pierced her, elicited the deepest sounds and sensations inside her, wave after wave.

But that wasn't pain.

That wasn't pain. His fingers bit her skin and left traces of burning desire; his eyes pierced into hers and even when closing them she could feel those pale grey orbs; his words, hated, sinful, crazy, he chanted them again and again beside her ears; his manhood damaged her inch by inch, but filled her completely at the same time.

That was invasion, possession, and completeness, like jumping into a hot spring in the chilled snow, feeling the coldness and heat conflicting on your own skin, and you could only accept the sensation, forget everything else and hiss. Yes, in that fire she really forgot everything, in the world there was just him and her. No, even "her" existed anymore, there was only "him", who was tearing her apart and molding her to fit his own body. Couldn't think, couldn't analyze, she could only trust—no, even "trust" didn't exist, she just had to compel him, letting him lead her to higher ground, letting the sensation build to the ultimate level.

Then she fell down or exploded. She broke into a thousand pieces.

The fall made her faint. After a long, long time she would re-awake from the faint. At that time, she would find Lucius kissing her neck gently. Or his mark. It seemed he loved to bite her neck and every time he did, he renewed his mark. Hermione doubted that it would ever heal or fade, even if she used ointment and magic each day. Sometimes she wondered whether he had decided to bite her throat like a vampire.

Which made her more confused. Everything about Lucius was conflicting: his skin should be cold but it turned out to be hot, his manner was always composed but sometimes so crazy. Hermione didn't expect his kiss to be so soft and sweet after their fierce encounter. But his kiss was also conflicting: gentle but at the same time possessive, which made her fearsome, but she couldn't help feeling adored. She hoped she could close her eyes, forgetting who he was.

She really was at his mercy.

He could easily take away her life, but he didn't, which only made Hermione feel more helpless. Was Lucius Malfoy playing a mind game with her? Was he playing a long-term game? Was he not afraid of uncertainty, or had he just made full preparations? She knew he had the upper hand, while she knew nothing about his rules, and she believed nothing good would came out from it.

Sometimes she preferred to assume he was crazy, because nothing else made sense. But he wasn't. In his breath she neither smelled alcohol nor drugs. And she knew her eyes were mirroring his. Sometimes she dared to open her eyes and see his blissful face, and for the first time she fully realized the power of her body over a man, but even that power was under his control.

Gods, Merlin, what had happened!

She was never able to derive the answer. Each time soon after he fell asleep, Morpheus would claim her as well, despite her desperate attempts to continue her thinking. She was too exhausted. She had never known sex could be so tiring. During the war she was able to stay awake for three days. Now she couldn't keep her eyes open. Was she too weak or did he make her too weak?

Maybe it was because sleep felt so wonderful.

Hermione feared cold. And after the war every night she would feel cold, especially in winter, the cold deeply clinging to her bones. She tried wine, but it only made her head drunk. So she drank a lot of hot honey tea and wrapped herself with the thickest covers, but she still felt cold. Every night she would hold her covers tightly and curl into a ball on the bed.

But when underneath Lucius…this man was fire. His fingers, his lips, his body… all fire. Under his body Hermione felt herself being on fire and every cell of her body was burning. Yes, burning, so painfully but pleasant, like dipping yourself into a hot spring while snow was falling onto your hair. Conflicting coldness and heat deeply instilled into her own system, she couldn't help hissing, shouting and moaning. Seeing Lucius's blushing, pink face covered with sweat, she knew her face must hold the same blissful expression. Hermione vaguely realized the mysterious power she had over the man, even though the power really lay in his manipulation. And his arms held her—more exactly, wrapped her—so strongly, so tightly, as if he wanted to press her mind out of her shell. In his arms, out of fear or pleasure or maybe both, Hermione not only felt weak and hated, but also uncertain and obedient. There were some split second when she even wanted to sleep forever in those arms, saving her the trouble to worry about what would happen next..

Sex was just sex, a physicality. Embrace, however, was a more emotional concept: warmth and intimacy.

Thinking Lucius Malfoy's action could be emotional, how ridiculous and utterly wrong!

She hated her female body's instinctive reactions to his ministrations. Now she was too weak to fight against him. But even if she had her strength back, she doubted whether she could refuse a man holding her so intimately.

Gentleness was worse than violence. Hermione now began to understand his words. And warmth was the worst poison, when it came from the wrong source, the wrong man. Like a thirsty person drinking poisoned wine.

Luckily her soul and mind were still her own, she was sure. But as her body succumbed to the warmth and to the man who gave the warmth, Merlin only knew how long her mind and soul could resist before she gave in entirely!

In her whole life Hermione Granger had never distrusted herself so much.

Each time after he drew out of her Hermione tried to pull away from him. But Lucius's muscular arms held her so tightly that she was pinned still.

She heard his soft breath, thinking he had fallen asleep. Boldly she looked up to study his face. In a moment she wondered whether she could pull away without waking him. But she had learned not to underestimate the wizard.

He was handsome, undeniably. In the dim moonlight she couldn't see the wrinkles beside his eyes and lips, and his skin seemed smooth. In the day Lucius Malfoy looked just late-thirties and in moonlight he appeared even younger. But Hermione could still see his sharp nose, pale brows and the thin lips showing a hint of a smirk. Even in his dreams Lucius Malfoy still maintained his arrogant features.

Even in his sleep, blissfully dreaming and not aware of his surroundings, this wizard could still make her fearful.

Suddenly Hermione felt Lucius pulling her to him. Defensively she extended her hands, wanting to push him away. Instead she found her palms being pressed on his chest.

She felt something rough under her fingertips. She couldn't help but look at the pale flesh underneath her trembling fingers..

Scars. Many, many scars covered his chest. A sharp contrast to his smooth face.

Softly Hermione ran her fingertips across his chest. She felt a certain scar, very thick, very long, reaching from his heart all the way to his stomach. Hermione knew magic could easily heal light wounds without leaving scars. She really dared not imagine what severe harm he must have suffered to be left with such a terrible scar.

The man must have suffered many harms.

Hermione couldn't help inhaling deeply. Not the aroma of cypress and muskiness as she expected, instead she smelled a scent of sex and sweat. Within it she could make out a slight, hot masculine scent. His smell. A human's smell.

It turned out that the aroma of cypress and muskiness was in his clothes, clinging to his layers of dignity, arrogance and pride.

Hermione's hands moved up to his shoulders, where there were scars as well. Her hand gently touched his back and slightly trembling but without surprise her fingers discovered even more scars.

Though his body itself was deeply scarred, dressed in layers of sumptuous clothes he was still himself: Lucius Malfoy, a pureblood aristocrat from an old wizarding family. Powerful, intelligent, cunning, eminently able to play at the top of his game by dispersing Galleons at the right time, and the right place.

Hermione looked at herself. Her body was young, healthy, and flawless like fine porcelain.

To some degree they both were similar. To the world she was still Hermione Granger, respectable war heroine, smiling "Gryffindor Princess". A bright, adamant girl to the eyes of her acquaintances.

But nobody knew she felt cold even in summer; nobody knew her old harms, her still seizures. Nobody knew she sometimes woke up at midnight with tears on her cheeks. Nobody knew she attempted suicide but failed.

Injustice, grievance, agony and resentment. That was what she felt all of a sudden. At least Lucius Malfoy had his scars to prove the harms he suffered. But who knew her wounds in her heart?

Hermione found she hated her friends, dead and alive, and she didn't feel that was absurd or wrong. At this moment she hated them more than anything in the world. Especially the Weasleys, especially Ron and Ginny. The silly Ron who died before he was able to fulfill his promise to protect her. He had always failed to protect her. He even hadn't dared to take her. Had she known he was about to die, she would have pressed Ron hard to take her that fateful night. And Ginny, the spoiled, selfish Ginny who had been spoiled by boys and men alike since she was born, by her father, her big brothers, her boyfriends and Harry. She had chosen the easiest way to unload her burden, leaving Hermione alone to live in grief.

How could you all leave me to such loneliness? How could you all leave me to alone suffer the loss? You are selfish!

Hermione felt something wet and warm on her cheeks. Her tears. One, two, three…silent beacons.

It wasn't the first time she cried after the war. But she used to cry for her friends and family. Now she was instead crying for herself.

It wasn't the first time her tears had been just for herself, her loneliness, her agony, what her life had become. Hermione sometimes felt sorry for herself so much. But today for the first time her tears came out in another person's presence.

She clenched her teeth tightly, but her tears continued to well out. She was pressed on Lucius's chest, her tears wetting his scars.


	15. Chapter 15 Her Tears 2

**Thank you Crumplette for your patient beta-work!

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Chapter Fifteen - Her Tears 2

In Lucius's mind, Hermione's words still echoed: "The war is over! THE WAR IS OVER!"

When she chanted them to him, her voice was desperate. Fear, humiliation and confusion conflicting with the mist of desire, filling her eyes, her warm, soft, twinkling, chocolate-colored spring.

Yes, the war was over. The war which took away his youth, his innocence, his ideals, his beliefs, and his family, giving him only a little mudblood in return.

He considered her deserved compensation for his loss.

Lucius believed he had full right to keep his little mudblood. After all, she owed him two lives. Well, probably Draco hadn't been killed by her technically, but it was she who shot the curse which led to Draco's end; and if she really did love her boy lover as much as she said, why shouldn't she shoulder that little blood-traitor's crime as well? Lucius thought of himself as very merciful: if it was not for him, that mudblood had died a million times already. Of course, she didn't need to know how many times he had saved her. And last but not least: he had been her first man, a wizard, and a pure-blood.

But he still didn't understand why he kept summoning her onto his bed again and again, night after night.

Thinking she was asleep, Lucius looked down to study the girl in his arms.

She was so small.

A tender love-shaped face; delicate features; round, dainty breasts with nipples like blackberries; narrow waist, the curve exquisitely rising towards her hips; slender legs—although she was petite, she had slender legs; slim wrists and ankles like pieces of art. Curled in his arms, her fine joints pressed into his muscles. Her skin soft and smooth like silk, the gift of youth.

Such a delicate little one. As if her body was made to be pressed underneath him. Each time he entered her, he felt she would be split by him, but she wasn't. Instead, her body was completely covered by his larger form and her every curve fitted his body perfectly. Through her sensitive skin touching his body, Lucius could feel her quiver and taste her fear, as clearly as he could feel his own hatred and pleasure.

She was a pretty girl, and sometimes it bothered Lucius. Not that he thought all mudbloods were ugly—he wasn't so narrow-minded. But in his opinion, a mudblood beauty should be plump, hot, wild, like luxuriant plants. Not like Hermione who was as delicate as a tender flower.

And Lucius was sure she was the most naïve woman he had ever encountered. Maybe that was the reason why he kept her: she deserved some lessons.

She was very annoying sometimes. Knowing she couldn't beat him physically, she attempted to beat him verbally, from the words of righteousness to threats of Azkaban. Though Lucius never feared the latter as no one would believe her, not even Hermione herself. To him threats to his person were very common, and changed more often than fashion trends. She even tried to persuade him to let her go. In terms of sophistry, Lucius had to admire her speeches: reasonable, rational, rigorous. As a speaker she deserved to be awarded.

However, when someone tried to persuade others with words, it meant they had nothing to offer but words. And Lucius was a master word smith who could twist any phrase into something suiting his purpose, taking advantage of the limited factor. He cherished her frustrated, futile attempts to convince him with her heart-felt, passionate words. He easily twisted her statements a little, shooting them right back at her, literally turning her argument around, without a care about the ideas she so desperately was trying to convey to him. Then he watched her with great amusement as her eyes filled with more confusion and uncertainty.

He would never forget that night. Even while he was removing her clothes she desperately tried to demonstrate to him that it was wrong. Demanding of him to explain why he summoned and touched a "muggleborn" when he thought he was superior.

Even in such an occasion, she refused to call herself "mudblood".

"Didn't you and your friends win the war to prove that purebloods and muggleborns are the same?" he answered her slyly.

And he really didn't care.

She failed. In her frustration she had then resorted to insults. Lucius smirked, for her vocabulary of dirty words was incredibly small considering her reputation of a Know-it-All. Sometimes she even begged him to curse her "Crucio me, but do not do _this_ to me, please!"

He gladly would have obliged, but he couldn't. What a pity. He couldn't leave any traces of magic on her as they could be used as evidence. Did she really think him so stupid?

She neither feared his curses nor his violence, she feared _him_.

Not as a wizard, a Death Eater or a pureblood, but as _a man_.

She was a brave girl, never gave up fighting against him. With her hands, feet, elbows, fists, she was biting, scratching, hitting at all of those weak points with her pitiful strength. All of it futile, but she didn't stop, fierce like an angry little lioness, the symbol of her house.

She didn't fear his magic, but even his exposed skin would make her quiver in fear.

He had noticed when he started undressing himself her eyes lost their fire, her struggle became feeble, her strength decreased. She was still fighting desperately, not anymore an angry lioness, but a scared lioness, her claws sharp but not hurting. At the same time Lucius could easily climb on top of her to feel her fear: even when he kissed her, he felt her tongue hurriedly escaping his in the small room, like a frightened rabbit trying to escape a big wolf.

She feared him so much. The fear made her cold as ice. But he was fire. He could thaw her into moist water, and then boil her with passion until she turned into steam.

She couldn't surrender her body's reaction to him. What was worse, she thought she could.

Yes, she could close her eyes, close her mouth, but she couldn't stop her breath, so soft, so shallow, so intoxicating. Fear, shyness and innocence brushed against his ears and hair when he relished her sweet body. She didn't know her breath turned him on even further: he loved shy sounds more. And her cold-to-warm skin, her lovely blush, her exquisite tremble and her heady, light moans honestly showed her desire and lust. Her small hands would fly to pull his hair and pummel his back, delicate pain in utter pleasure.

Sweet Merlin, his little mudblood knew nothing, but because of this, she knew everything!

Conquering, superiority and taunting self-righteous fools which often happened to be Gryffindors were Lucius Malfoy's favorite pastimes. Oh, and women. How he loved to take the little Gryffindor mudblood, to watch her struggle, trying in vain to escape from him, from the desire he woke inside her. And he always ended up with a limp, helpless, panting mess underneath him.

Her lustrous brown curls would spread over his silken pillow beautifully, her cheeks would be covered with a wine-red shade, her half-open eyes filled with mists of lust, and her sweet, hot breathing would echo beside his ears. So delicious.

And what can be more satisfactory for a man to feel such a small body with its delicate curves being pressed against his own body, delicious quivering resulting from aftermaths of desire and fear, and inability to move?

She couldn't fool him. Her body held a most primitive longing for him, whether she admitted it or not.

Lucius's gaze moved up to her neck, where he saw the light indentation of a small round bite. A mark. His mark. Like a painter would sign his name on his work, after relishing her sweetness Lucius would bite her neck, marking her, consummating his art.

If she insisted that she wasn't his, the bite clearly spoke otherwise, claiming her as Lucius Malfoy's property. Who could say she wasn't his after seeing her mark? Each time Lucius would bite on her neck hard, and hear her cry in response. The mark made sure she would never forget whom she belonged to.

On her creamy, slim neck, the pink round mark looked so lovely.

Lucius couldn't help kissing the mark each time, like a miser kissed his gold, and pulled her into his arms. He could feel her trying to push him away in response, but in her exhausted body there was no strength left. Seeing his mudblood managing to open her eyes, and ending up taken away by sleep, was such a funny bedtime program.

He never thought he would be so gentle with her when kissing her mark, as if trying to comfort her.

Then… did he still hate her?

Yes, he hated her. When he saw Hermione had closed her eyes to pretend nothing had happened, he had the urge to assault her, to make her scream his name. But when he was done with her, seeing her mark and her blushed face, Lucius couldn't help but notice his soft feeling for the tiny, delicate girl.

Judging from their bodies Lucius Malfoy had assumed his wife and son had been killed brutally, but according to Hermione's confession, they had quick and painless deaths. Lucius had been proud of his ability to distinguish lies and he was sure Hermione was telling him the truth.

He realized the situation was far more complicated than he had thought. According to what he knew about Draco and Narcissa, it was clear they couldn't have been so weak and incapable to die of simple, benign curses. What was the real reason they died? It seemed as if she could not be blamed alone. Of course, she should be blamed. But Lucius had to find the people who were really behind their deaths. Those who had ensured Draco and Narcissa would die of weak curses. Yes, those people were the real murderers.

But she still had no right to through her insulting comment at him. Silly little mudblood.

Lucius couldn't help snorting. He didn't expect the girl to understand the significance of blood purity. And how dare she blame his following the Dark Lord for their deaths? Raised in such a prominent pureblood family, blood purity was the only right belief he knew. And she accused him of being the Dark Lord's servant? A Malfoy would never descend to submit to anyone, and a Malfoy only followed the leaders he believed in…at least that is what he believed when he was younger.

But on the other hand her comment wasn't completely without truth. As his wife, Narcissa wasn't able to escape her fate, but Draco… Maybe he didn't have to become a Death Eater. In his family two Death Eaters were enough. From the very beginning Draco's mission to kill Dumbledore had been almost impossible to fulfill. Maybe instead he should have entrusted Draco to that meddlesome old fool Dumbledore. The Dark Lord would have punished Lucius without hesitation. But as long as he was useful to him, the Dark Lord wouldn't kill him. And…how much worse could his punishment have been?

Lucius frowned at the girl. Despite her puerility and silly idealism, Hermione still tried guessing his mind. Her intelligence shocked and angered him: such a talent in a mudblood was inconceivable and a waste.

And why was the girl so stubborn and silly, in other words "confirmed" as those self-righteous people called it? She never learned her station, she never tried to make anything easier for herself, and always thought she was right. She was head-strong like a one hundred year old witch. At the point where most women would have given in, Hermione Granger didn't. Even in such a time when war weakened most people Hermione Granger stood by her principles.

So what? She was nothing. She was just a common girl, a silly little mudblood, who couldn't resist a superior like him, no matter whether as a pureblood wizard or as a mature man. How he loved her ecstasy covered eyes with when she screamed his name! She always tried to close her eyes when he took her, but the moment her eyes opened again, they held nothing but him, and she exposed herself to him wholeheartedly.

Lucius took comfort and triumph from her reaction. For a man it felt so good to become the whole world in a pretty woman's eyes, even though Hermione Granger was a mudblood.

When he reached his climax and collapsed on her, sweaty, panting, dizzy and exhausted, feeling his mudblood's soft body cuddled against him, Lucius couldn't help feel the triumph as a man: she was his.

Then he would close his eyes and inhale her aroma. Lucius was surprised to find her aroma clinged to her body, not to her clothes. Orchid aroma, pure and clear. Smelling her aroma somehow Lucius would feel peaceful and at rest. However, as soon Lucius as put her and his body on fire, her aroma became incredibly cool without the heat of lust. But she was warm when her body was singing in desire.

She was his. His little mudblood, his outlet, his acceptor, his compensation and his consolation.

Thinking about that Lucius couldn't help pulling her closer. Her body was his; there was nowhere to escape.

He felt Hermione's soft hands pressed on his chest. Slowly her hands began to roam across his chest. Her fingertips ran through a very deep scar.

That scar. When Draco failed the mission to kill Dumbledore, the Dark Lord had decided to punish them both, mentally and physically. At first the Dark Lord had ordered Lucius to shoot the Cruciatus at Draco, then he had ordered Draco to use 'Sectumsempra' on Lucius.

If not for Severus's help, he would have died. But even Severus was incapable to cure it, although it was he who had developed that curse. For the Dark Lord had used additional curses to ingrain the punishment onto Lucius, to "deepen his memory".

He felt Hermione's small hand moving to his shoulders, then his back. The girl's hand touched his scars softly. Suddenly he felt something wet, warm on his chest.

It was her tears.

In that moment Lucius's heart melted gently.

On that dark day Severus had tried his utmost to heal him. When he woke up Severus told him Narcissa had visited to check up on Lucius's recovery. But later she had locked herself away from him for three days, never once coming to see him. After that each time when he came to bed, Narcissa always turned over to her side to lie with her face away from him.

Sometimes in his sleep he could feel Narcissa whimpering. But at that time he already knew she hated him, even though she had loved him a long time ago.

She hated him. It was because of him, that she, their son, even he himself were suffering so much.

Lucius never thought of someone other than Narcissa to be deserving enough to understand his hurt. But now the little mudblood was weeping because of his scars.

_She was really weeping for the sake of me?_

Albeit it sounded foolish, the thought was still fantastic.

In the world there were billions of people, but in this moment, at this place, there was only one whose tears were dropping for him. And the one happened to be a woman, a beautiful woman, whose warm flesh was pressing against his. His heart melted for her, even though she was only a mudblood.

It felt so good, though it shouldn't feel good at all.

Lucius couldn't help holding her more tightly—he didn't know why he did it, but it felt so right at the moment— and pressed feather-like kisses on her hair. Then he comfortably drifted to sleep in her light orchid aroma.

The next morning Hermione woke up to find herself still in Lucius's arms. In a panic she tried to slip away from him, but to no avail. Just at that moment Lucius's eyes opened in slow motion.

Hermione froze. In a long, silent moment they just stared at each other.

His gray irises looked like mist, like stormy clouds, like winter ocean depths impossible to see in. But Hermione believed she saw something, and it made her tense.

Just when Hermione felt her tears welling up again, Lucius slowly loosened his embrace and removed his arms. He watched her quickly cover herself, jump out of the bed, get dressed, and then disappear.

* * *

Author's Notes: Thank you for reading it! If you like it, could you please tell me what you think about it? Please!

My number of hits has reached 5,700, thank Goodness! Thank you readers! And thanks to my reviewers _sweet-tang-honney, Gleekforever, Mandy88, Lotus Blossom88,lilo, Emmylove, laurielove, incorrupted, Suzzanne_.


	16. Chapter 16 Snape in Ice

**Thank Crumplette for her skilled beta-work!

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Chapter 16 - Snape in Ice

On a bright July morning in her house, Hermione had just gotten up and was preparing some orchid tea for herself, when a brown owl showed up outside her window.

Hermione realized it was an owl from the Ministry. Quickly she moved to open the window, a question running through her mind: _What does the Ministry need me for?_

The owl dropped the note and flew away. Hermione picked it up, opened it and read the scribbles.

_Hello Hermione,_

_You might want to know this: We found Potions Master Severus Snape. He is dead. Please stop by at my office at your earliest convenience._

_Dean Thomas_

In shock Hermione stood still for a moment, the cup in her hands. Then the realization set in, and she put down the cup heavily.

Snape! That despicable traitor who killed Dumbledore!

In a hurry Hermione flooed to the Ministry. Without brushing the soot from her robe first Hermione immediately rushed to Dean Thomas's office. After the war he had felt the urge to honor his biological wizard father who had been killed by Death Eaters for refusing to join them. He had studied to become an auror for the chance to right some of the wrongs committed each day to innocent people.

As soon as Hermione stormed into the Aurory, she recognized Dean's head among the office crowd. "Dean!" she gasped.

"Hermione." He strode towards her, his countenance serious. After quickly exchanging their hellos, she followed him pacing speedily down the hallway. Between breaths she asked him: "You found Snape? Dead? Where is he?"

"Yes we did. His body has been transferred to the cooling room, where it can be examined safely."

"How did you find him?" she said quickly, "I thought he fled to the Continent."

"We found him in a house at Spinner's End. We didn't exactly discover his location all by ourselves instead we received a letter which told us that we can find him in that house."

"That house at Spinner's End must be his house, where he grew up with his mother. You guys received a letter…!" Hermione yelled in surprise, "Who sent it?"

"We don't know who the sender is. We are currently trying to identify the handwriting. However, I am afraid that the writer didn't want us to recognize his or her identity."

Hermione asked immediately: "May I see his body? That traitor has a history with me. I mean, with the Order. It is my duty."

"I know, that's why I called you here." Dean led her through a long corridor. "I dare say his death appears quite unusual. And I advise you to wear a thick jacket."

"Why do I need …" before she could finish her sentence the door of the cooling room was opened, a wave of cold air suddenly enveloping her. "I'm freezing to death! Does a cooling room for corpses need to be that cold?"

Dean had conjured up a thick jacket for himself. Hearing her grumble Dean took off his jacket, and handed it to her. Hermione shook her head and transfigured her cardigan into a warm coat. When she turned around she noticed a huge ice cube, about eight feet high.

"No wonder it's so cold." Hermione muttered, "But why do you bother preserving his body by placing ice in the room. Don't you guys have a refrigeration system…" but when she walked around the ice to the other side, Hermione gasped and covered her mouth with her hand.

"What…"

Her remaining words trailed off into a muffled sigh. Inside the ice there was a figure enclosed, hanging in mid-air, as if levitating. It was none other than Severus Snape, as intimidating in death as he was alive. His skin looked as pale as wax, and the ice gave his skin an eerie glow. His black robe's hem floated in the solid ice, making him look like an opaque ghost.

She pressed on towards the ice to study Snape's face in a close-up. The semi-transparent ice didn't divulge all the details, but she could clearly recognize his face was showing an anguished expression.

"He was just like this when we found him." Dean told her.

"Why don't you take him out of the ice?" Hermione asked, moving around to observe Snape's body carefully.

"Merlin, we just found him yesterday. The ice is solid, and thawing it will take a while."

"Then split the ice block, and get him out. After all, today is a workday." Hermione blurted out. Realizing her bossy tone, she promptly placated: "But you guys must be very busy, and probably have other important things to deal with. I just assumed you aurors would try to solve this riddle as soon as possible." Hermione then noticed one of Snape's arms had the sleeve rolled up. Did he do that himself, or was this action performed by his murderers? And why would somebody want to roll up his sleeve, and freeze him? Unfortunately she was not able to see his arm clearly because of the ice.

"We started working on this case as soon as Snape was brought here." Dean shook his head and sighed: "We just decided to start with examining the handwriting of the letter informing us of Snape's location. After all it seems to be a key piece of our puzzle here, and who knows what the sender actually intended to do. As long as he is safely enclosed inside the ice Snape's body will not decay. When the ice melts, it will no longer be possible to accurately identify his time of death, and the decay will also taint the results for other tests we need to perform on his body."

Hermione sighed disappointedly: "I see. Dean, please inform me as soon as you find out more. I believe I might be able to assist you here."

"Then thank you so much!" Dean kidded half-heartedly.

"You're welcome. After all it is my duty to punish the traitor." Hermione said through her teeth, "Well, if this coward thought he could have an easy death without the punishment he deserved, he was utterly wrong."

After returning home Hermione had been thinking about the mystery of Snape's death and that mysterious author of the letter. She was so lost in thought that she barely realized time progressing and darkness settling in. Usually near nine o'clock she would feel restless and tense, for soon Lucius was going to summon her. When she lay on Lucius' bed, and he was unbuttoning her clothes with his hands, she was still deep in thoughts.

"You're distracted."

The calm statement pulled Hermione out of her trance. She looked down to find his fingers lingering on her belly. Somehow she felt her face being hot.

Recently Lucius had been surprisingly gentle with her, at least not as rough as he used to be. He began to kiss her sweetly, instead of just forcefully shoving his tongue into her mouth and making her gag. His soft, lingering kisses gave her so many butterflies fly in her stomach she couldn't help but kissing him back. His arms didn't hold her as tightly as usual. Instead he held her loosely, his warm skin meeting hers like warm water. It felt so comforting it made her sleepy. But he didn't talk to her. He would utter many bizarre words, even moan her name when he reached his orgasm, but she believed he was only speaking to himself. That was alright, for she didn't know what to say to him.. What she felt was too personal and intimate and…completely and utterly wrong! Hermione was worried since she had no idea where this fake intimacy would lead.

But now he obviously expected an answer. And…what did he mean by 'distracted'? Did he expect her to concentrate whole-heartedly on his humiliating ministrations?

Hermione felt a smooth finger under her chin and she was forced to look up into those grey irises, which weren't as cold as they used to be, but she still couldn't see through their depth.

"What are you thinking, puppet?" his voice soft but demanding.

The term of endearment made her quiver. But she managed to stare at his nose, pretending she was looking into his eyes. Even though Lucius was no longer hurting her, she still didn't trust him. How could she? She never knew what the man was thinking.

But the pressure under her chin remained constant, and she couldn't keep silent.

"Nothing." she forced herself not to look away.

She knew he wasn't satisfied with this answer, for he began to kiss her hard and hungrily. His lips crushed onto hers with a kiss so intense, it made her unable to breathe and long for oxygen. It felt as if he was punishing her with his kiss.

The following days Dean Thomas sent her a daily missive keeping her updated about the case. He informed her about the actions they had taken, and the discoveries they had made. One week later she received a request to visit the Aurory again. Dean welcomed her with a smile.

"The ice finally melted."

"Good job. Did you find anything about the handwriting on the letter? Did you get a chance to identify the sender? And where is Snape's body now?"

"No information on the handwriting yet. It unfortunately didn't resemble anyone in our records. As for Snape's body…come with me."

Hermione followed Dean to enter a room with white walls. On a bed against the wall lay Snape's body, covered by a white sheet.

"The healer from St. Mungo's performed a check-up on the body. They determined that Snape had been alive when he…was frozen in the ice initially."

"Alive!" Hermione couldn't stop her gasp. Imagining somebody was frozen to death in ice was enough to make her sick. After she calmed down she couldn't help but commenting mockingly: "At least he had the courage to commit suicide."

"But it feels so creepy." Dean muttered under his breath.

"I agree." Hermione moved to Snape's bed. "But… how did he freeze himself in the ice when he was still alive?"

"Er, we assume that he first summoned an amount of water to cover his body, and then he said a freezing curse."

Hermione imagined Snape waving his wand to utter the curse, and in a split second his being engulfed in ice, freezing his blood, and everything.

"Why did he freeze himself to death?"

"Maybe to reduce his agony. We found the freezing curse works very quickly, in a few seconds he would have lost consciousness."

"Sounds even more mysterious. Why did he bother with the ice instead of using an easier death, like for example a deadly potion? After all he is a Potions Master!" Hermione turned to Dean: "May I see his body, please?"

"Of course."

Hermione removed the sheet. There was Snape wrapped in a shroud. His skin was so pale that it looked green in the light of the room, and his black hair looked greasy. His faced grimaced in agony as if he was having a nightmare.

"He looks so scared."

"Everyone fears death." Dean told her.

Hermione studied Snape's face. His condition seemed so unusual. She vaguely sensed his death was far more mysterious and complicated than both of them fathomed at the moment. Her gaze moved to his right forearm, which was still covered by the shroud. Hermione remembered his rolled-up sleeve she had seen in the ice.

"Have the healers removed his clothes?"

"Yes, fortunately they did. Those rags he was wearing…" Dean's lips curled up in disgust. Hermione carefully rolled up the shroud to see his forearm.

There was the Dark Mark on his sallow skin, as scary on his dead body as it had been when he was alive. But it had faded obviously. Even though she could still vaguely tell the outline of the skull, its color was light grey instead of black, and the pattern was blurry.

"Dean, come here for a moment and look at this. His Dark Mark is blurry!"

"Don't you remember?" Dean shook his head in exasperation, but started walking over to the table where Snape was lying. "The definition of a Death Eater's Dark Mark changes with Voldemort's power. When Voldemort rose for the second time his power became so strong the Marks burnt to black. Now that he is dead their Marks have faded." Dean had arrived and moved his gaze down to where Hermione was pointing. "At least Snape's Mark didn't fade completely yet. We have enough evidence to confirm his identity as a Death Eater."

"I'm just curious." Hermione pressed her fingertip on Snape's skin and saw a tiny pit showing up in response to the pressure."Did you find anything else?"

"No."

Hermione bit her lip. She realized she had to check Snape's body herself to verify her suspicion.

"I would like to perform an autopsy on Snape."

"That procedure where they cut open the body to look inside?" Dean looked surprised. "That's a great idea. We will gather a lot more information that way. I might even know just how to obtain permission for that sort of thing from the authorities. But ….." he paused for a second "Do you understand what an autopsy entails, and how to perform it?"

Hermione was so glad that Dean had grown up in the muggle world. Otherwise she would have had to spend a copious amount of time explaining muggle medicine to those ignorant wizards—and most of them happened to be pureblood. Hermione suppressed her quiver.

"Don't worry. I know how to do it." she reassured him. She had studied autopsy at a muggle medical college for half a year in addition to her education as a healer in the wizarding world.

Dean smiled. "You always know everything. But I'm afraid they may think an autopsy is unnecessary since the ministry healer's exams did not reveal anything. They will want to close the case quickly. After all he was guilty and dead, and soon-to-be convicted anyways."

"No, Dean, I have to do it. Not only because I don't want to allow him an easy death, but also because I perceive the circumstances of his death to be highly suspicious. I believe this case is not as clean cut as it may seem."

"Well then," Dean shrugged. "I will help you. But in St. Mungo's there are only a few healers who understand muggle medicine. So you have to perform the autopsy by yourself. And I'm afraid you will personally have to obtain the permission of our Minister."

"Could you help me applying for that permit? You as an auror know better than I do how the bureaucracy here works."

"Of course. I'll start working the system from here to get you that permit, but you will still need to speak to the Minister."

"Oh, Dean, thank you very much. And can you lend me the necessary equipment for the autopsy? I'll call the Minister's office for an appointment, but I'm afraid it will take a while until she makes time for me."

* * *

When Hermione called the office of the Minister of Magic by floo, the secretary told her the next available appointment would be in 3 weeks time. At the look of Hermione's disappointed face, however, the secretary offered to check with the Minister herself and call her back. 5 Minutes later the cheery face of the secretary appeared in the fireplace. "The Minister has an opening in her schedule in 30 minutes. Hurry and don't be late."

Hermione never had expected the Minister of Magic to make time for her. Usually the minister's calendar was always booked for at least a few weeks in advance. This was unusual, and Hermione was contemplating about what could have brought on this much too sudden accommodation. _'That toad Umbridge wants me to be unprepared for the meeting_.' Hermione thought annoyed while she was rushing to the Minister's office. She only had very little time to mentally sort through her facts and key points before the meeting started. Now she was sitting in Dolores Umbridge's office and had to face the woman's toad-like face and fake smile yet again. As always, a flood of uncomfortable memories of the woman from her fifth year at Hogwarts suddenly surfaced in Hermione's mind making her uncomfortable.

"Miss Granger, congratulations! At last your foe is found and dead."

Hermione held her head high: "First of all he was a Death Eater, secondly he was a traitor. Although I do hate his actions and the choices he made during his life, between him and me there is no personal hatred."

"Oh…" Umbridge stirred her tea meaningfully: "You require an autopsy. Why? Your enemy has died and been declared guilty. Why bother to…" her face turned to disgust "cut his body open like a muggle?"

"I am muggle-born as well." Hermione said dryly.

Umbridge blinked. There were rumors persistently claiming Umbridge was muggle-born. Merlin only knew why her birth certificate proclaimed she was a pure-blood from an unknown bloodline.

"But… don't you think it is a little too bloody? Cutting someone's body open, rummaging around in their insides?"

Hermione breathed deeply: "Dear Minister, I should tell you that an autopsy is a medical procedure to examine the dead person's health condition and uncover the fine details of their death. It is neither 'cutting open the body', 'rummaging around in their insides' nor a desecration of the dead."

Umbridge showed her sickly sweet smile.

"But I'm afraid it is unnecessary. Dumbledore's filthy murderer has received his punishment. He had a painful death, didn't he? The public has received the result they were looking for. Justice has been served. It is time to move on, dear."

Hermione slightly lowered her head, held the tea cup to her face, letting the rising steam veil her face.

Finally she looked up and addressed Umbridge with a serious face: "Minister, I think we can move on only after the criminals have received their deserved punishment. What matters is bestowing fair judgement, not severe measures. I think the public will be more satisfied when they get not only the result but also the reason. Every decent citizen would do whatever lies in their power to investigate the facts. And…" Hermione's voice suddenly reduced to a whisper, "I think _your man_ would have wanted to clarify the matter."

Umbridge's countenance and body language didn't change. But Hermione could see her lips quivering imperceptibly. She couldn't help but feel a mischievous satisfaction. Usually she didn't blackmail anyone. But for such an incapable, foolish woman who deserved neither respect nor fear, she didn't care. And she didn't _mean_ any harm she was just trying her luck. For on the day of the funeral of the prior Minister Cornelius Fudge, when she had passed the room where his coffin was located, through the locked door she happened to make out a familiar voice emitting muffled cries, over and over muttering in despair "My man".

"Good. Miss Granger, you can do whatever you want. Now given the fact you are such a smart girl, I hope you can _really _find something during that autopsy."

"Thank you very much. I'm sorry to have taken up so much of your time." Hermione stood up and left. She knew Umbridge must be mad at her. But she desperately wanted to investigate Snape's death . She sighed quietly: just now she had played and disposed of the one and only trump card she held over the Minister. She prayed to Merlin and all the Gods that it was worth it.


	17. Chapter 17 Discovery

**Thank you Crumplette for your beta-work.

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Chapter Seventeen - Discovery

Standing in the preparation room, Hermione put on her operating gown, her operating cap, and her respirator. She carefully washed her hands with a brush, and coated them with medicinal alcohol. Putting on her operating gloves, she opened the door with her elbow.

What she saw surprised her: the surgery room was full of people wearing healer robes, about ten or more. Through the glass wall she could see more people, some of whom even pressed their face onto the glass to see everything more clearly.

"What happened?" she asked a nurse nearby in a low voice.

"They have all come to inspect and maybe later emulate the operation. All healers not otherwise engaged have come, Miss Granger."

Hermione looked around. It was eminent these healers inside the operating room were authorities in the field of wizard medicine. She could easily recognize that from their exquisite green robes with silver-threaded embroidery which identified them as high ranking authorities in the wizarding world's medical hierarchy. The people standing outside behind the glass wore plainer robes signaling their lower rank. The authorities looked at her with calm and mild distrust, while those lower ranking healers outside watched through the operating room glass with more curiosity, some standing head-to-head, some chatting.

Hermione sighed: she had never expected that her autopsy would draw so much attention, which made her uncomfortable. She felt as if she was on the stage, but she was performing an autopsy, not a in a play!

But she had to go ahead and just do it. Breathing deeply, she made her way to the center of the room where the operation table stood. After respectfully greeting the healers inside the room, and acknowledging her audience outside with a silent, polite nod, she opened her autopsy tool box, and took out those scalpels, scissors, tweezers and other devices. She gestured the operation was ready, and looked down to check on Snape's body.

Snape's skin was pale with many scary scars scattered over it. She put her gloved fingers onto his abdomen, pressed random places, and her eyebrows furrowed.

"Step back." She commanded the audience.

She picked up a small scalpel, and cautiously pressed the blade onto Snape's abdomen.

A copious amount of blood flooded out immediately. If the gauze in her other hand had not been covering the wound, the blood might have sprayed. At first she had naturally thought the liquid emerging from the cut had been excess fluid. For that can be found between the tissues lining the abdomen and abdominal organs medically referred to as 'ascites'. But it turned out to actually be blood!

Missing the shocked expressions rushing over the faces of her in-room spectators, and the gasps of the healers outside, Hermione stared at the blood in thought. Normally blood in a dead body was congealed, but Snape's blood had instead freely flown out of the cut she had administered. What was going on here? What had happened to Snape's body?

She resumed opening the abdominal cavity and what she saw made her shriek: Snape's abdominal cavity was filled with blood! She managed to draw the blood out of there. Holding a pair of tweezers she began to check the organs inside the cavity. To her shock she found his organs were significantly damaged. His stomach wall was as thin as paper, and broken, as if it had melted gradually. His spleen was congestive. And his intestine…was unnaturally tender. 'Well,' Hermione thought,' that was certainly unusual.' Now it was time to announce her findings so far.

"Massive hemorrhage. Enlargement of spleen. Suspended aleukia." Hermione whispered thin sweat forming on her forehead. "Wipe the sweat for me, please." She commanded the nurse in the room as it was customary during an autopsy. The nurse, however was a wizard and had no idea about the muggle autopsy protocol.

Not hearing any response, she uttered louder: "**Somebody please wipe the sweat for me!**"

A nervous nurse rushed by to press dry gauze onto her forehead.

"Thanks." She muttered. Picking up a pair of scissors, she cut through his skin to his chest. Detaching the ribcage she groped inside his chest, where she found Snape's heart. She could feel his heart was swollen. Tentatively she pitched his lung, which felt like a sponge.

She heard someone from outside the room vomiting and she noticed some people were rushing away. Even the faces of some of the authorities who should be used to observing gruesome medical displays started to turn sickly green. Hermione didn't acknowledge them, she just concentrated on her operation and muttered: "Enlargement, blood, platelets… But why…"

She felt nausea rising inside her, and tried to suppress it. All of this was too scary and rather sickening. Although she hated Snape for disappointing her so deeply after she had trusted him as her teacher all those years, she still couldn't help feeling sorry for him.

At last Hermione finished her handiwork and sighed tiredly, her face glistening pale with sweat.

"Massive hemorrhage and organ lesion." She said wearily, "His case is uncommonly strange. I am afraid his organs gradually molted blood. Not ruling out the possibility of poison or malignancy. I therefore advise to perform more tests."

"Miss Granger's evaluation and recommendation is feasible, I think."

Hermione looked up to see the owner of the voice, who had grey eyebrows and sharp pale eyes. He was one of the most-respected doyens in St. Mungo's, and had been the senior invigilator on her healer qualification exam. Hermione flushed with pride. Just now she had performed the first muggle autopsy ever at St. Mungo's, and the doyen appreciated her work. She shyly smiled: "I need more help. More and deeper checks are necessary, and they are beyond my knowledge and expertise."

"We will help you. And today's experience has been very educational, Miss Granger." Hermione was surprised to find a glint of respect in the eyes of the senior healers.

* * *

Several days later Hermione sat in the office of the doyen. On the desk between them lay analysis reports fanned out in a half circle facing the doyen.

"Miss Granger, I'm sorry to inform you that we didn't find anything further." the healer said softly.

"What do you mean?"

"We only were able to repeat the discoveries from our last examination, but we have yet been unsuccessful in determining the reason for the hemorrhage. I am afraid we did not confirm there to be any organ lesions present as suggested by the results of your muggle procedure. Also the body had not been poisoned, nor have we found any traces of viruses, parasites, inflammations or carcinomas."

Hermione sighed and smiled at him."Thank you all the same, Sir. I am sorry to have troubled you. Please convey my sincere thanks to the other healers who have helped in this investigation." before she stood up Hermione asked another question: "Did you check his Dark Mark, Sir?"

"It's faded. But as far as I remember, all the Marks on the forearms of Death Eaters have faded from their initial black into grey after Voldemort's death, Miss Granger."

With a heavy sigh Hermione left the office of the senior healer. As she expected the staff of St. Mungo's unfortunately did not confirm the scientific evidence discovered during her autopsy. After all the healers had used magic for their examinations, whereas the muggle autopsy investigated the body physically in great detail. Nevertheless, the results of her operation had provided important insights for Hermione, even though they had not been accepted by the wizarding world.

* * *

The next day Hermione went to Azkaban to check out the numerous Death Eaters serving out their prison sentences. She had committed Dean to apply for her permission as soon as she had finished her first examination of Snape's dead body. Unfortunately it had taken a whole month for the Ministry of Magic to run the application through its bureaucratic mire before she finally held her permission in her hand. After bravely weathering the perennially cold North Sea wind during the last leg of her journey to Azkaban, she now was faced with the entrance guard's stern face.

"All dead and buried." The guard responded to her inquiry about the Death Eaters she was trying to visit today.  
"Not one of them is alive?" she asked hastily, "How have they died?"  
"I don't know." the guard shot her a suspicious look, "Only Ministry employees are entitled to that type of information, and I don't believe you are an actual employee of the Ministry, are you?"

Hermione immediately noticed the guard's derisive countenance which was laced with incredulity. He considered her a nuisance, and just wanted to rid himself of her annoying presence.

"No. I'm an expert from St. Mungo's, and have come here on behalf of the Minister of Magic herself to investigate the Death Eaters, and to help bring a criminal to justice." Hermione stated calmly, but with a commanding voice, and the look of disdain on the guard's face disappeared. Finally, it seemed he had accepted the validity of her presence here.

She wondered why the imprisoned Death Eaters had died so quickly. This was more than odd. Sirius Black, Harry's godfather, had survived twelve full years in Azkaban even though the correctional facility had already been staffed with dementors back then.

Why should the Death Eaters incarcerated here after the war not survive merely two years? Hermione was wondering what had happened to them. She checked the atmosphere that met her at the entrance. Immediately she noticed the ragged stone wall, the frosty air, the dim light, the putrid scent, and most of all the absolutely terrifying absence of any warmth, or friendly feelings. She felt chilled to her bone by the pull of despair that started to seep into her mind. As if all positive thoughts were extinguished. She looked around in the entrance hall, but did not see any other being except the guard. It suddenly became eerily clear to her what that meant. There were now a lot more dementors here than ever before, if she sensed their presence so intensely through the walls and closed doors. Yes, Azkaban must have significantly increased their deployment of dementors. No wonder the Death Eaters had died so quickly!

"There is just one woman left, Bellatrix Lestrange. But she is useless."

Hermione thought for a moment. Yes, Bellatrix Lestrange was certifiably insane, but maybe somewhere in that deranged mind of hers there was a hint or some fact to help her with her case. She had to convince the guard to let her visit with Bellatrix.

Putting hands on her lap, she asked: "May I see her, Sir?"

The guard's stern eyes glared at her: "What can you find out from just a useless body?"

Hermione responded in surprise: "I must see her, Sir, even if she is nothing but a soulless body now. It's necessary for scientific reasons. "

The guard barked harshly: "Here your bloody science has no use. Something else is more useful, Miss, and it makes the useless useful."  
He gave her an unpleasant, somehow expectant look, and suddenly Hermione understood the cryptic message. Sighing through her clenched teeth, she lowered her eyes, and put her hands into her pocket under the table, her dress jingling.

A crisp clank came from the stone-floor, when Hermione unceremoniously let a one-galleon piece drop to the floor.

The guard's eyes narrowed, and watched with interest, but he continued to lean back in his chair without a move.

A second clank came. And another clank, clank, clank.

Once the twentieth clank had interrupted the silence, the guard finally straightened himself, stood up, and walked towards her. "Follow me."  
When she stood up, he held out his hand to make contact with her arm. Feeling scalded by the touch, Hermione couldn't help jerking away.

The guard lazily led her through many dark corridors. Hermione conjured up her otter patronus, and let it wrap around her neck like a glimmer shawl, protecting her from the clouds of dementors inhabiting the prison. At last, the guard said huskily: "We're here. Be quick."

The clash of door and frame told her she had arrived at her destination. Hermione stepped into the cell. Just four year before the witch occupying this cell had almost killed her by hitting her over and over with the Cruciatus curse at Voldemort's command. Bellatrix Lestrange had been insane, but very lively, fit, and imposing. She would never have thought one day she would see the fierce woman like this.

The filthy cell floor held scattered sweet wrappers, half buried in the thick dirt. On the end of the cell lay a skinny, pale woman on her face. Her muddy, tangled hair spreading around her in wild, untamed curls, covering her back like clothes, while her grey prison garb was as tattered as fishnet, which made her looked like a rag tossed away casually.

Hermione walked over to her, bent down and turned her over to lie on her back. It was the first time that she had observes Bellatrix Lestrange's face.

Her skin was so pale she looked like a ghost in the dim light. Her cheeks were sunken in and every bone under the skin bulged. Her lips, Hermione recalled, used to be red like blood, but now were almost white. She looked nothing like her tormentor in the dungeons of Malfoy Manor four years ago. Neither did she resemble the escaped criminal on the front page of the Daily Prophet six years ago. And somebody who had to identify her by the portrait in Black Manor with those shimmering black tresses, and fiery dark eyes, would have an impossible task on their hands.

Slowly Hermione rolled up the sleeve of Bellatrix's robe. She noticed many wounds on the woman's arm, and she believed even more could be found underneath her prison clothes. On her left-forearm she found her Dark Mark, faded as Snape's Mark had been.

Hermione pulled Bellatrix's forearm closer to her eyes to take in the details.

No, on closer look her mark did look slightly different. Where Snape's Dark Mark was faded and blurry, her mark was also faded, but clear. Hermione could easily see the texture and pattern in her Mark, while Snape's Mark was fuzzy like a cloud.

Hermione bit her lip hard. Death, Dark Mark, loyalty and betrayal. She knew there must be a connection somewhere, but at this moment she wasn't able to put them together.

* * *

That evening after taking her yet again Lucius kissed her adoringly for a long time, then held her possessively and drifted off to sleep. As usual Hermione opened her eyes, knowing that soon sleep would take her away. Now she didn't try anymore to push him away, for each time she had tried before, she had failed.

She had slept in the man's bed since more than two months. During that time she had gradually become familiar with him: his skin, his breath, his kiss, his touch, his warmth, and his heartbeat, which was pumping steadily under her ear. She also learned to identify his emotions: desire, relish, anger, sadness, favor, and many others. Both gentle and demanding, he was. But she still didn't know what he wanted from her: it felt as if though he was trying to relieve himself of something through her, where at the same time he also wanted to gain something from her. She didn't know why he whispered sweet words to her; she didn't know why he held her so tightly, as if he wasn't able to drift off to sleep without her being at his side. She just didn't know why. And she didn't dare find out.

Hermione looked at him. Once again she saw his scars. She couldn't help recalling those ugly scars on Snape's dead body.

How dangerous it had been to be Voldemort's servant. Wormtail, Snape, and…Lucius.

At that moment Hermione really felt so sorry for the wizard. Lucius was powerful, but he was…imperfect.

He had lost his whole family and all his friends. So had she.

He had said "Now we aren't so perfect", as if both of them had been perfect at one time, and still tried to maintain a perfect facade. At least, he seemed to think so.

Hermione doubted she could ever be considered _perfect_. She sharply remembered because of _him_, she wasn't even _intact _anymore.

However, when thinking about him, she felt more agony than hatred. Agony wasn't hatred, though it felt similar.

She looked at Lucius, seeing his handsome face and the ugly scars, and oddly realized they both were one and the same.

A bold idea suddenly occurred in her mind: What if she tried to take a look at his left forearm to check on his Mark? He was deeply asleep, and she was certain he would not wake up if she was careful. Of course he wouldn't like her to take a peek at his Dark Mark, but what he didn't know wouldn't bother him.

Lucius was lying on his back, his right arm holding Hermione close to him, the other casually draped next to his body at a slight angle. Without letting his face out of her sight Hermione carefully moved her body a tiny little bit underneath the comforter to gain just enough wiggle room inside Lucius's embrace to move her right arm. He mumbled something in his sleep, but did not wake up. Her heart pounding she waited until his breathing was once again steady and deep, then gradually extended her right arm ever so slightly until she had reached his left arm. She held her breath but Lucius continued to breathe deeply. _So far so good._ She then let her hand rest on his arm for a while, not daring to move. His face remained peaceful showing that blissful smile only a deep slumber can bestow. _Now!_ She carefully brushed her fingers over his left arm towards the top of the comforter to then folding it back and finally being able to look at his forearm. While her fingers were gliding over his forearm she believed she _did _feel something, but she knew his arms were so flawless.

Lucius shifted slightly as if he was about to wake up, and wrapped both of his arms around her slender body, locking her into his tight embrace.

Feeling frightened Hermione abandoned her idea of uncovering his arms. Involuntarily she went back resting her head against his strong chest, so afraid he might have discovered her little trick.


	18. Chapter 18 A Shocking secret 1

**Thank you, Crumplette,you're your fabulous beta-working skills!**

* * *

**Chapter Eighteen - A Shocking Secret ****Ⅰ**

Milky wax melted in the flame of the gently burning candle, dripping down along the stem, slowly gathering in long tails. Hermione sighed, put down the book, blew out the candle and lay down, getting comfortable for the night.

She had written to Professor Flitwick asking for permission to use the Hogwarts Library on her quest to find clues for the puzzle Snape's death presented to her. Professor Flitwick had happily obliged to help out such an excellent former student, and had allowed her to stay "as long as she liked". Snuggling under the cozy comforters of the bed in her Hogwarts guest room she shut her eyes for sleep, but thoughts of puzzles and suspicions still echoed through her mind. With a sigh she realized she just could not fall asleep.

She had never seen or heard of a case as bizarre as Snape's. She had again and again read through all of the medical reports, as well as re-tested the samples she had took from his body, but each time the results had been the same, and in her mind the case just became more and more mysterious. Snape's blood had been very thin, demonstrating a serious lack of platelets. His organ tissues had been much thinner than usual, almost flimsy like worn cotton. As far as she knew, it would take about two years of constantly declining health before a body showed signs of the severity she had observed on Snape. She had, however, also found combinations of potions and drugs in his blood, though not a lot. Why had he taken those? Had he tried to heal himself? In that case why had he stopped taking the medicine? Snape might have been many things, but first of all he had been a Master of Potions and Dark Magic with extensive knowledge which should have enabled him to at least delay his death, if he had so wanted. Why had he given up hope? What could have harmed him to the extent of becoming unable of healing himself?

And why had he returned home to England after barely escaping from the country one year ago? Why had his body been found in his childhood home? Why did he die? And who was the anonymous informer?

Puzzles enveloped her from every possible direction, and each was as mysterious as the others. It was so frustrating. Questions over questions, but no answers! Finally Hermione's exhausted mind grew tired, and she closed her eyes, allowing herself to drift into the ocean of sleep and mystery.

* * *

The next morning she woke up early as it had been her habit since her time at Hogwarts. She walked to the library to get an early start on her project before the always busy comings and goings of the Hogwarts students started to unfold in the hallways. She had permission from the Headmaster to pursue her studies here, but she tried to avoid interfering with the daily life of the school. The light of the early morning sun was dancing on her face, but her countenance wore a disappointed frown. After three full days of searching through the vast Hogwarts library she still hadn't found anything of relevance to her case. From her own time as a student here she knew the probability of still finding anything useful after that much time of searching was very slim. How she wished she just could have access to the internet right now! But no, the wizard community had to pride themselves on their ignorance for any type of muggle technology and sciences. As a result there were no computers let alone connections to any networks anywhere to be found in the wizarding world! Hermione let out a deep and heartfelt sigh.

Or maybe the theme she was looking for was simply too inaccessible. Yes, every clue pointed to _Voldemort_. But Voldemort himself had been a riddle from birth to death, just like his infamous original name _Tom Marvolo Riddle_. Hermione thought that was quite ironic.

But Voldemort was not the only riddle here, but his Death Eaters appeared puzzling as well. After the war, the remaining followers of the Dark Lord insisted on rebelling, however their terrorism ceased strangely enough just one year after it had begun, almost exactly one year ago. The government had succeeded to arrest a couple of Death Eaters, but nobody had any overview of how many of those criminals were still at large. The Aurors had tried to interrogate the captured Death Eaters, but none of them had any idea exactly how many of them were there. Everything she had found out about the Death Eaters looked like coincidence, but it also looked like random occurrences. For example some of the Death Eaters went insane, but that was not an unusual circumstance for people who dabbled intensively with the Dark Arts. Most of the Death Eaters incarcerated in Azkaban had died, but there had always been inmates who died in the rough environment of the wizard prison. And the acts of terrorism of the remaining Death Eaters suddenly stopped one year after they had begun, but then that was hardly surprising given the fact their Dark Lord and Master was dead. Everything looked perfectly explainable. But this innocent simplicity somehow kept on hammering inside her subconscious as if there was something very odd and suspicious about it trying to break into the conscious level of her mind.

A chill went through her body. Everything somehow looked as if someone had intended to conceal something! But who had done this, and what had they tried to hide? A sudden thought made her sick to the stomach. She hoped this wasn't some kind of Ministry conspiracy. Maybe Voldemort really was behind all of this, and he was secretly pulling strings inside the ministry, just like an undercover dictator. "No, Voldemort is dead!" Hermione chided herself. "All parts of his soul are destroyed, and his ugly snakelike corpse has been burned to ash. He is dead, _dead_, DEAD!" She had been there herself and had seen him die. Yes, he had survived death three times, but that had been only because of his horcruxes. But those had all been destroyed during the war, and there was no way anymore for Voldemort to come back. Besides, each time when the Dark Lord had returned, one of his followers had supplied him with a human body. But now most of his Death Eaters were neatly locked away in Azkaban. The remaining followers had given up their fight, and Wizarding Britain was happily moving on with their lives rejoicing in their freedom from Voldemort. There was nobody left who would want to resurrect him. Or … was there? Had they overlooked something?

This train of thought scared Hermione, and she snapped herself out of her analysis. No, that idea was ridiculous. She had been brooding far too long over this problem and now her mind was starting to indulge in impossible scenarios. No, Voldemort was dead. Dead! With a deep breath and a small sigh of relief she returned all the books to Ms. Pinch the librarian, and left in a hurry.

She strode along the hallways, hoping she could bring her mind to abandon her silly idea along the way, however her efforts were in vain. But it was impossible to revive Voldemort again. And even if it could be done, his soul must have a body to inhabit. The only people who had contact to Voldemort's soul, as far as she knew, had been Ginny through her experience with Riddle's diary, and herself. Neither of them could have done it though as Ginny was well protected and safe in St. Mungo's, and Hermione saw no missing pieces in her own memory. But still her mind wasn't giving up thinking about the impossible. Hermione shuddered. What if ….. what if Voldemort somehow really had come back to life?

Who could know Voldemort's secrets except for himself? And he had taken all the answers with him to his death.

Maybe there was somebody he had confided in?

Or somebody who had enough knowledge about Voldemort to successfully derive answers?

Hermione stopped and looked up. Her feet had subconsciously led her to her destination. She placed her hand on the handle, hesitated for a moment, and then pushed the large oaken door forward.

The door opened, and she wasn't sure which sentiment was more prominent in her mind, relief or disappointment.

To her surprise, the frame was still hanging on the wall, but the painting just showed an empty background. Hermione hesitated. This seemed so strange and she still didn't know how she should face Dumbledore. Should she forgive him? After all during her time at Hogwarts she had always looked up to the benevolent and kind Headmaster, and he had never given her any reason to doubt him. On the other hand he had craftily manipulated Harry into sacrificing himself for the good of everybody else. It had been the only way to end the war and win, but Dumbledore had given Harry no chance of choosing for himself. Should she hate him for that? Her emotions were conflicted. There were ample reasons for both forgiveness and hatred. Something inside her was shouting at her to just forget about it, and run away, but then …

She reached out and knocked at the frame three times.

After a brief while of waiting she heard the rustle of approaching robes. Someone was coming. A moment later she heard a familiar voice: "Miss Granger?"

Bravely she held up her head and looked into the cerulean, intelligent eyes. She hadn't come to a conclusion yet whether she hated him or not, but her heart felt confident now about her resolve of engaging him in this discussion. "Professor." She said with a determined tone in her voice, intentionally omitting his name in her greeting.

Judging from the questioning expression on Dumbledore's face he had noticed the slightly cooler tone she had chosen to address him with as well as the small touch of improper decorum when she didn't greet him with his name. He evenly replied: "I must say your visit comes as a surprise to me."

Hermione felt taken back and an overwhelming impulse ran through her to demand of him whether he was really so surprised to see her after everything they had discussed the last time she had seen him. But there was no merit in yelling at Dumbledore. After all, she had intended to see him. And after everything Headmaster Flitwick had done for her he would be greatly disappointed if she gave into her battling emotions. She calmed herself down, and quietly counted to ten.

"They found Snape." She said curtly.

Hermione feared her eyes would betray her and offer a window into her conflicted emotions, but that did not seem to be the case. A glint of genuine surprise crossed Dumbledore's face when he heard the news. Then his eyes lit up and started to twinkle with delight.

"You say Professor Snape is back? Where is he now? And how is he doing? He has been gone far too long!"

Dumbledore's reaction shocked her. Why was he so happy at the news that the man who had killed him was back in England? His own murderer! Why did he act like as if he didn't know? No, she thought mockingly, Dumbledore had been able to foresee Voldemort's death, but he could not make himself look into the heart of betrayal. Hermione didn't know why she couldn't make herself despise Dumbledore. But she sure couldn't help feeling anything but hatred for Snape, especially when in the past she had always been the one to believe in him.

"The betrayer of your Order is dead, Professor." She couldn't avoid the bite in her voice.

Dumbledore's face seemed to fall down. "Professor Snape is dead? How did he die?" he asked demandingly.

"He had a painful death and no one knows what happened." Hermione deadpanned.

"Oh Merlin. How could this be…" Dumbledore supported his forehead with a fist, his face clearly showing his shock and sadness.

The scene somehow stung her. How could Dumbledore care so much about somebody who had gravely betrayed him? Even murdered him! And so little about good guys like Harry? "Didn't he deserve what he received?" she asked mockingly, "And are you always being so kind and forgiving towards those who do _not_deserve it, Professor?"

Her words had been infiltrated with sultry malice. Dumbledore must have felt it as his countenance morphed into a bitter grimace, and his gaze became serious.

"Miss Granger, I said I have made many mistakes. But I do not regret trusting Professor Snape. I have my reasons."

"If _that_ was _not_ a mistake, what was it then? And yes, Professor, you seem to _always_have your reasons for _everything_."

"Yes, I do have my reasons. Miss Granger, not all things are what they seemed to be." Dumbledore's voice became gentle. "Professor Snape used to be a Death Eater, but he no longer is. Hermione," she noticed Dumbledore was addressing her by her given name now, a privilege he never had bestowed on her before. Up until now, Harry had been the only student Dumbledore had ever called by their first name. His voice continued "in the Second War, especially in the final battle, Professor Snape had been innocent of being a Death Eater. More than innocent, I may say." Hermione just listened to him, but said nothing.

Dumbledore sighed slightly. "Miss Granger, didn't Harry Potter come to see you about something important right before the final battle?"

"Harry…" she whispered, and she remembered. The evening before the final battle Harry had hidden himself away from all other people for a long time. At midnight Hermione had woken up to a knocking on her door. But the noise was so light, almost sounding hesitant, and she had been so tired, she hadn't answered the door. That must have been Harry! He had reached out to her with some important information, and she had not answered his knocking! Harry must then have given whatever it was he had received from Dumbledore to Ron, since he had slept just next door to Hermione. But… Ron had been killed as well the next day, right there with Harry!

"I left my memory with Harry to explain everything. Didn't he inform you of this?"

_So the knock in that night was Harry_, Hermione thought, _and he must have left Dumbledore's memory to Ron, but I didn't find anything like that on Ron's body_.

_Usually Memory strands were stored in a glass container to be used in a pensieve later_, she thought. Then she understood.

Dumbledore must have read her thoughts. "Yes, you assume correctly. I did indeed leave another copy with Professor Snape. Both my memory, and a letter with my handwriting."

"But how do I know where to find them?" she asked, her confusion written all over her face.

Dumbledore smiled at her, his eyes gently gazing at her, and said "They must be with him, Hermione. Professor Snape was a very meticulous and orderly wizard."

"But," Hermione asked, a sudden wave of suspicion invading her conscious for the first time since the beginning of their conversation, "Why do you want me to go and find them? Why don't you just tell me everything directly?"

"It's too complicated." Dumbledore replied with a compassionate look on his face, "And people never simply believe what they hear, you know. People only trust those things they find out by themselves, even if they have to invest a lot of hard work to unveil them."

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. She felt both suspicion as well as an involuntary chill of awe before Dumbledore's seemingly unfathomable intelligence, but her curiosity got the better of her, and she agreed to try retrieving the items Dumbledore had given to Snape. _Curiosity killed the cat though_, she thought.

* * *

Hermione strode through the hallways of the Ministry of Magic, ignoring the various looks following her, just concentrating on her destination. In the end, she stopped at the Aurory. She purposefully did not knock at the already opened door to void prominently announcing her presence. Instead, she wrote a note, folded it into a bird and hexed it to fly into the office. Cautiously she followed the paper bird with her eyes, and saw it landing on Dean's desk. The note read: "Lunch. The usual place."

At lunch time, she sat in the furthest corner of the Leaky Cauldron, patiently waiting for Dean's arrival. Finally, at 1pm she saw his tall, slender figure walking towards her table.

"Good afternoon, Hermione." He gave her a surprised look. "What brings you here today? You haven't contacted me for more than one week!" Then his face turned into a bright, knowing grin "Let me guess, it's because of Lavender, isn't it?"

"Good afternoon, Dean. Allright then, next time I'll be thinking twice before occupying your and Lavender's valuable time." She merrily winked at Dean, "An old classmate can't just stop by and have a lunch with you?"

Hannah Abbott, the innkeeper, came to take their orders. Hermione turned around and smiled at her. "Hello Hannah. Good to see you again. A tray of your special sandwiches and two orders of ham soup with corn, please!"

"How do you know I always come here for lunch?" Dean asked as he sat down.

"You're forgetting our sweet innkeeper classmate." She smiled broadly at him while hinting at Hannah with her eyes. Her hand reached out and took a sandwich from the tray Hannah had just placed in front of them. "Inadvertent accident, I think" she said with a grin. "Oh let's just get on with it and eat. I'm so hungry!"

Dean chuckled, and took a sandwich himself. They were very good. Hannah definitely knew how to prepare very tasteful meals. After several sandwiches and a bowl of soup, he looked up to find Hermione had stopped eating. "Hermione, are you done already? I thought you were so hungry."

She smiled warmly, "I'm full, thank you for asking. But you are a man, and your job is very busy and full of physical activities. You need a lot more food than me."

Dean straightened himself on his seat. "Hermione," he began, "I don't think you've asked me here just to have lunch, haven't you."

"Correct." She nodded with a sigh. "I am afraid I have to ask you for a favor, Dean. I found out something new about Snape's case today. And … I need to check on his body again."

Shock crossed Dean's face. "But the Ministry has decided to end the investigating on his case!"

Hermione was confused. "Why that all of a sudden?"

Dean shrugged: "Our department head said the case had already wasted too many resources. And since Snape was a traitor and had met his deserved end, justice had been served, and they didn't see any reason to continue pursuing it."

"What?" she gasped as realization dawned, her hands clenching into fists. That reasoning sounded strangely familiar. She remembered hearing it not too long ago…..

"I think ….. the order must have come from the highest level, correct?" she said, her voice low and calm.

"Yes." Dean affirmed. "Our department head told us the order had come from the minister herself."

_Damn Umbridge_! "But it's very important!" Hermione said desperately. Then she quietly performed a _Muffliato _underneath the table to avoid potential listeners. "Professor Dumbledore asked me to do it! He said it is vital to prove somebody's innocence!"

Dean blinked. "I am very sorry, Hermione, but you're too late. We have already transferred his corpse from the morgue to the mortuary, and in this evening, after the aurors have left, he will be simply cremated, as it is customary for a traitor such as him."

"Then, please, let's just go over to the mortuary right now!" she cried in desperation, "I won't need more than thirty minutes, I promise!"

Dean gave her an apologetic look: "Look, Hermione, I'm sorry, but my manager has ordered me to have an eye on the comings and goings at the mortuary. He fears some of the last remaining Death Eaters will come out of hiding and steal Snape's body to give him a decent burial. And the ministry wants no interference. I am really sorry, but I cannot let you do that."

The reality heavily crushed on Hermione, and she lowered her head in resignation, her dark eyes full with frustration.

"Thank you all the same." She smiled wearily at him, "Professor Dumbledore said it matters greatly for it can reinstate a wizard's innocence and honor. And I just need thirty minutes or less. But I know what that…" her hands clenched into fists, but she resisted her impulse to emphatically yell _"that toad"_. Instead she left her sentence hanging in the air and sighed instead. "I can imagine _Umbridge_" her voice trembled from suppressed rage at that name, then dropped to tired resignation again "will be fuming with anger and you must avoid that at all cost. Never mind then." She let her shoulders sink. "After all, you have to protect not only yourself, but also Lavender. Both of you have your careers in the Ministry at stake. And I…I …it doesn't matter." She added quietly "Thank you for the help you have given me, Dean. It's much appreciated." With these words she got up.

Dean shifted uneasily on his chair, and he avoided looking up at her. After a long moment when she was ready to turn around and leave, he got up as well and their eyes met. She saw the resolve in his eyes, but also noticed the fear and his feelings of uncertainty. His voice was trembling when he answered her.

"I'm afraid you have to give up, Hermione." He shook his head, and looked to the floor, his voice becoming low. His diction was clear and careful, as if he had to think about each word he spoke. "Snape is on display for the public at the _Sileo In Pacis_ funeral home in the first hall on the right. There will be no ceremony, but people who wish so, have an opportunity to see the traitor finally dead. The viewing will end at 6pm. The regular ministry workers will be gone by that time already, as their workday ends at 5:30pm." His voice carried a hint of sarcasm when mentioning the work hours of the ministry people. "The Aurors will stay on until a quarter past six and then leave as well. As the leading Auror on Duty I'll have to check whether everything is ok after everybody has gone, and will be the last person to leave, around 6:30pm."

He stopped for a short moment, his eyes looking up suddenly, gazing into hers intently. "The cremation machinery is charmed to automatically start its work 10 minutes after I have locked up Snape's funeral hall. The key itself is magical, so no additional wards are needed. Also the mortuary personnel as well as many other people will still be around since there are still other funerals going on. So don't worry, no Death Eater will be able to stop the cremation." His eyes reverted back to normal, and he said with a sad smile. "I am sorry, Hermione, but there is nothing I can do for you. I cannot let you inside now. As you have said it yourself, I have both Lavender's and my career to think about."

He petted her shoulder as a consoling gesture. When she turned to leave, however, Hermione believed she felt something slipping inside her pocket.

* * *

At 6:30 pm, under a Disillusionment Charm, Hermione took position near the _Sileo In Pacis_ mortuary. What an inspired name for a funeral home, she thought sarcastically, as she remembered her Latin studies in 5th grade before joining Hogwarts. Couldn't they have thought up something more dignifying than simply _Rest in Peace_? As soon as she saw Dean leaving the building, she started walking slowly towards the entrance of the funeral home. Her movements were careful to not accidentally brush against the many other pedestrians on the populated street. The article about Snape's death and public display in today's _Prophet_ had attracted many onlookers, who wanted to see the traitor of the Order of the Phoenix finally dead and defeated. After a while she reached the entrance, and slid inside. This was a large mortuary, and she saw signs for three different memorial ceremonies, but nothing for Snape. With the aurors and ministry workers gone now, nobody would have guessed Snape was inside the building. A lot of people stood around in the entrance hall, and others were walking along the hallway. She knew there was not much time. She had to find and unlock Snape's funeral hall before the 10 minutes were up, and moving outside in the crowded street had already taken much too long for her liking. She started to look for Snape's room. If she remembered correctly, Dean had said it was the first hall on the right.

The funeral hall was easy to find, and Hermione let out a silent sigh of relief when she arrived at the door. She took out the second key Dean had slipped into her pocket. According to his explanations earlier this was a magically charmed key with special wards. Unlocking the door would both take down the protective wards, and also stop the countdown for the cremation. She hoped it would work. She tried not to think about what would happen if she would start an alarm, or if the crematorium oven would switch on and Snape's body being pulled inside while she was still examining him! A cold shudder ran over her spine, but she shook it off. Carefully she inserted the key into the keyhole, and turned it around. She could feel magic flooding through the door, and a low hum accompanied the complex locking mechanism. She felt a small rumble on the floor. Then the door was open, and no alarm was sounding. Hermione smiled and walked inside.

She locked the room again. To her relief nothing happened. The magic in the door must have noticed it had been locked from the inside, and thus the wards and cremation countdown had not been activated. Hermione relaxed and applied a Quieting Charm on the door. Now nobody was able to hear her from the outside. She was already wearing her autopsy gown, respirator and gloves, which she had put on in advance before coming here. She was ready to begin her work. Lighting a magic candle above the table, she glimpsed at Snape's cold corpse, and stretched out one hand to reach inside the simple open coffin.

She took out her wand and stripped Snape of his clothes with a spell. Carefully she felt, pinched, and tactually investigated his flesh, from his neck, chest, stomach down to his legs and feet, but found nothing unusual. She turned him upside down and repeated her tactual investigation, but to no avail.

Hermione removed her hands with a huff. This was so frustrating! She had come all this way for nothing! She had imposed herself on Dean, placing both him and Lavender in danger for nothing! Her body welled up with an immense flood of anger, frustration, and desperation. She had allowed herself to believe in Dumbledore, and the old sneak had played her. Just like he had played Harry. How could she have been so stupid! The guy had told her all this nonsense about memories and a personally written message just to get rid of her! When the realization of her own defeat finally sank in, Hermione could not hold back the tears anymore. It was too much. A large tear ran down her cheek, dripped down on Snape's shoulder. The tear was absorbed, and something thinly red formed on his skin!

Hermione's eyes caught the scene. Enlightenment struck her like an electric shock, and she decided to have another try. She irritated her eyes with alcohol drenched cotton forcing the tears to flood out.

More and more tears fell onto Snape's skin. Thin, red lines and curves showed up, extending in all directions, beginning to form small bows and lines as in calligraphic characters! The characters formed words, and the words formed sentences. At last, a handwritten letter appeared on Snape's back. The words looked liked they had been carved into his skin, and at the bottom Hermione could identify Dumbledore's signature!

Watching the incredible magic unfolding in front of her, Hermione opened her mouth, too astonished to speak. It all made sense: only a friend would shed tears for him. This was the only way for Snape to prevent his enemies from finding the letter. He must have magically carved Dumbledore's letter onto his back with his own blood, concealing his skin to only reveal the information if graced with a sympathetic tear!

Suddenly an idea flashed through her mind. Hermione turned Snape over to lie on his back, positioned a pair of scissors over the skin where Snape's abdominal cavity was located, and with precision cut an opening into Snape's stomach. Her hands reached into the cavity to check it out, and this time she indeed found something: a crystal vial tied with a string around its neck. To her shock she found the string was routed through his gullet, and the other end of the string was tied around a tooth in Snape's mouth. He must have swallowed the vial, charming it to only be revealed after the letter had been displayed. It was the only way to prevent his dead body from revealing the vial in case it was found by his enemies! That's why she hadn't found anything during her autopsy. And then he had preserved his body by freezing himself to death!

"Merlin!" she numbly stared at the vial in her hand when the enormity of her find hit her. Snape had chosen to end his life in a very painful death to preserve the information Dumbledore had entrusted him with, ensuring it reached only the intended recipients! She silently stepped back, looked at Snape, and bowed deeply.

"I am so sorry, Professor." She whispered, her voice trembling at the realization of what she had to do.

She breathed deeply, and then began to peel off all of Snape's dorsal skin with her scalpel and wand. Once she was done, she sewed up his stomach and cavity with invisible strings, and concealed his back with an Illusion Charm. She eliminated the fetor and blood from the vial and the cut off skin, cleaning them off neatly before she pulled two airproof evidence bags from her purse. The two pieces were then sealed securely inside the bags, ready for her to carefully place them into her purse to take with her.

Once the work was finished, she took a moment to compose herself, before using her wand to return Snape's clothes to his body. Now he looked just like he did before she had started operating on him. She took a step back, silently gazing at his peaceful form. "I have misjudged you, Professor Snape." Her voice was quiet, but she spoke with conviction. "Everybody who came to see you today had nothing but contempt, but I see a brave man. Thank you. Farewell."

With these words Hermione pulled herself out of her reverence, and walked to the door. She had to leave quickly, before the funeral personnel would notice the cremation machinery had not started yet. She silently removed all the hexes she had used, and left the room under _Disillusionment._ After making sure nobody was in the hallway, she used the key to lock the funeral room up again. She knew Professor Snape's mutilated corpse would finally find peace inside the flames when the cremation began 10 minutes from now.

Without problems she found the lady's room, changed back into regular robes again, and made her way out of the building. Wearing a serene look, she walked down the street slowly to the Apparition point.

"Sileo In Pacis" she said quietly and left.

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Do you enjoy it? Read & Review please!


	19. Chapter 19 A Shocking secret 2

**Thank you my wonderful beta-reader Crumplette! **

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**Chapter Nineteen – A Shocking Secret II**

Hermione let out a sigh. She needed to find a way to view Dumbledore's memories for which Snape had given his life to protect. Pensieves, however, were expensive and not commonly found in private possessions. Dumbledore himself had been using a pensieve at Hogwarts, and Hermione remembered Harry telling her about it. It was located in the Headmaster's office. She would have preferred, however, to view Dumbledore's memories alone first without Dumbledore present. The thought of his manipulative behavior towards Harry made her feel a little uncomfortable, and she felt a bit hesitant about visiting Hogwarts to use the pensieve. If it was somehow possible, she wanted to look at the memories by herself first, and visit Dumbledore afterwards.

But who could have a pensieve in their posession? Hermione's mind ran through the list of people she knew, only to arrive at the realization that unfortunately none of her friends were wealthy enough to own such an intricate and expensive magical device. The Aurory probably had a pensieve in their archives somewhere, but Hermione knew there was no way she could file a request without raising too much attention to herself. And Dean had no access to the Aurory Archive's pool of magical devices, so it was impossible for her to ask him for one. No, Hermione realized, the pensieve in Hogwarts was her only option. Fortunately Headmaster Flitwick liked her, and might thus be amenable towards giving Hermione access to his pensieve. She decided to go to Hogwarts to visit Dumbledore, and ask the headmaster to let her use the pensieve first before her meeting with Dumbledore's portrait. Yes, Hermione thought to herself, that plan should work.

When she arrived at Hogwarts, Hermione walked straight to the Headmaster's office. Professor Flitwick was happy to see his famous former pupil again, and listened to her request with compassion in his eyes. Unfortunately, however, he was not able to oblige her, since the pensieve had just been brought to Dumbledore's portrait's room the day before, as the former headmaster had requested. Hermione sighed. Of course. It made sense. Dumbledore must have known she had to come to Hogwarts to get access to a pensieve, and had proactively made sure she had to use it in his presence. So be it, Hermione thought and with a weary heart she walked on to Dumbledore's classroom.

Hermione stood in Dumbledore's Portrait's room, staring at the silvery, cloud-like liquid in the pensieve that was sitting on a desk between her and Dumbledore. After a while, using trembling fingers, Hermione opened the vial in her hand, shot Dumbledore a determined look, and poured its content into the pensieve.

Dumbledore sighed lightly. He knew the girl was nursing a slight mistrust for him. But it was important for her to see the truth. She needed to see. She needed to understand. And she needed to believe. He looked intently into her eyes, and spoke calmly.

"Now, Miss Granger, you can watch the truth unfold for yourself. Lean forward into the pensieve, and let the memory engulf you. Once you have finished, just repeat the spell my resemblance in the memory speaks at the end, and you will be brought back to the present."

Inhaling deeply Hermione leaned forward until the silvery liquid filled her view, and she slowly began burying her head into the pensieve.

The cloudy silver immediately seeped into her world. She felt herself falling through the bright emptiness…

_Her feet met solid ground, and she felt warm sunshine flooding over her face. Opening her eyes, she found herself standing in a glade. The golden sunshine shone through leaves and branches, leaving shadows on the ground. Judging from the environment she felt certain she was in the Forbidden Forest._

_Hermione looked around and soon found her purpose: two men stood facing each other on the small area. The men were dressed in wizard robes, and she recognized them immediately: Dumbledore and Snape. She carefully approached the two silently standing wizards. Professor Snape wore his typical stern look, which she remembered so well from her school years. His night black robes were blowing outwards in the breeze, giving him the appearance of a dark thunderstorm cloud. Dumbledore clad in a silky pale robe stood beside Snape, and the sunbeams making their way through the leaves of the surrounding looming dark trees of the Forbidden Forest bathed him in shimmering light, letting his silky robes glitter like snow._

_Dumbledore's countenance showed a smile, serene like a soft breeze on a hot day. She heard Dumbledore's voice "Severus, please do me that favor we talked about." _

_Snape didn't even raise his brow: "Yes?"_

_"Please do me the favor as planned, and kill me."_

_Suddenly Snape's wand had been pulled out of his pocket and he was pointing it right at Dumbledore's chest: "Now?" _

_Snape's dark eyes were flashing obsidian daggers, but Dumbledore just gently pushed Snape's wand away: "Severus," he said with a hint of bitterness, "You must be careful with your wand. And as for my death, you may have to wait. I won't waste it and it needs to be saved for one most important moment."_

_Snape stiffened his jaw. His words were pained and showed his intense reluctance to oblige Dumbledore's request. "No. I won't." he snapped. _

_"But you must." Dumbledore's voice was soft, but his tone was unequivocal. "You and I both know that I won't live for much longer. I'm afraid the soul of Voldemort is … affecting me."_

_"You mean… his soul is … inside you?" said Snape with incredulity, "Like it was for Ginevra Weasley when she had Tom Riddle's diary?"_

_Dumbledore smiled: "To an extent, yes. But I think the person you are talking with right now is still the real 'me'. So far I am still the master of my own actions as well as thoughts. No, Voldemort's soul has been damaged. But it has damaged me as well." He exhaled lightly with a sigh. "As you well know, in each battle there is sacrifice."_

_Snape's face overshadowed with shock, but then he managed to compose himself again, and let his countenance settle into a curt sneer. "I should have foreseen the curse to be so fierce…." _

_Dumbledore just said leisurely: "At my age, you understand how it feels to grow 'older and older each day'. I have lived long enough to know what it feels like when death is entering your realm of possible experiences."_

_"Of all people in the world, I had never expected the greatest wizard of all times to choose his own death as solution to a problem. How can…how can you make me do this, to you?" Snape's voice sounded very tight, like something was clenching his chest._

_"I did suffer, but that isn't what it seems like." Dumbledore answered plainly. Then, noticing the pained expression on Snape's face he added "Please do understand that this is not my being selfish. This is a strategic move. The most powerful strategic move to make at the respective point in time. It will be vitally important to our strategy, and I need somebody I can trust to perform this delicate task properly. Nothing but my death can entice Voldemort to lose his guard sufficiently enough. And as a member of the Death Eaters you are in a position to execute this task without raising Voldemort's suspicion." Dumbledore's smile was as bright as usual, but there was a tangible solemnity carefully hidden beneath it. _

_It was clearly visible on Snape's face he was not convinced. "Are you sure of that? After all, you yourself said the possibility is only tiny."_

_"You don't understand Voldemort as well as I do, Severus. That's all I can tell you for now." Dumbledore answered quietly. "Voldemort may be well trained in and knowledgeable of the most powerful and abstruse Dark Arts. But even the Dark Lord himself does have his weaknesses." Dumbledore paused to let his point settle in. "His powerful magical skills and his vast knowledge have seduced him into believing he is the most powerful wizard in our world. He believes himself to be omnipotent and infallible. Such overconfidence and arrogance make him blind to anything else, and lead him to carelessness, thinking nobody is able to deceive him." His eyes were twinkling now with merriment. "This, my friend, gives us a great advantage."_

_"I never would have thought you to be somebody who stakes victory on such uncertainty, Professor." Snape's voice was full of incredulity, "How can you do this?" _

_"A door will open at the right moment to decide the outcome of a war." was all that Dumbledore said._

_There was a long silence. Snape stared at the rocks on the ground, and he himself was also as silent and frozen in movement as a rock. The breeze surrounded the black and the white figures. Dumbledore's long, white beard floated slightly in the air, vaguely reminding of a thick veil. _

_Once again it was Dumbledore who broke the silence. "Severus," he said mildly, "What's your response to my request from last month?"_

_If Snape's face had been pale before, now it was white as ash. His jaw was clenched tightly, each muscle in his face slightly tingling. His black robes spun around forcefully, and Snape faced Dumbledore head on. His face pulled into an angry, painful expression he snapped: "How can you do this! You asked me to look after him, and not let anyone hurt him before he died!" He bit "I happily would have seen to his death 16 years ago. But now, after 16 years… No, I can't do this!" Snape's face remained painful, but the anger turned into helplessness. Suddenly he barked "I must see him into Hell. That's it, isn't it? You raised him only to send him to his death!" Snape let out a deep sigh and shook his head with disbelief. "Don't you think that is a bit hypocritical?"_

_The smile faded from Dumbledore's face, and he looked older suddenly. "Yes," he replied, "Of all people you do have the right to blame me."_

_"Of course!" Snape bit venomously, "It is you who ordered me to protect him, and now you have me watch his death." Then the anger in his voice was replaced by bitterness. "I don't know which use that could have!"_

_Dumbledore sighed deeply. "In any case, it has to be done. Please make sure he'll suffer as little as possible."_

_Snape's face was so white, as if he had seen death himself. His voice choked, and his eyes shot daggers at Dumbledore._

_"After 17 years you just now conveniently conceive such a strategy?" he exclaimed bitterly._

_Dumbledore smiled, but his smile was as bitter as a cry._

_"You think I want this, Severus?" he said in a low voice, "Do you really think I would let Harry die if there somehow is a chance for me to take his place and die myself instead?" Dumbledore lowered his head: "I hope to die for him, but I only have one life to give and it can only be given one time. But …" Dumbledore paused and his bright blue eyes stared at Snape intensely, "we have to do this. It is the only way. We cannot afford to lose this war!" His expression grew somber. "Merlin knows what Voldemort will do if he wins and conquers Wizard Britain. His ambition reaches much further than just our little world here in this country." Dumbledore's eyes sternly fixed on Snape. "Severus, you know what this entails, don't you. You have firsthand experience with the workings of the Dark Lord, and can take a good guess at what he might be planning. But," and Dumbledore looked Snape right in the eye, "I am afraid not even you know for sure the full extent of what he is capable of."_

_Snape had grown silent His eyebrows scowled with thick sorrow and confusion. After a long, long moment, he began to speak: "Why me? Why don't you choose a Gryffindor?"_

_"You are the only Death Eater in the Order." Dumbledore replied. Then noticing Snape's uneasiness, he explained further, "And you are the only person I can trust to execute what has to be done. As for Minerva—it is she you are referring to, isn't it?" a brief flutter of remorse crossed Dumbledore's face, "She has a valiant heart which drives her actions, and she therefore is not suited for this task."_

_A bark left Snape's throat. "How fortunate for me." He mocked bitterly, "What if the Dark Lord wins? Then I will be a real traitor to the Order, and a most valued Death Eater to Voldemort."_

_"No, your orders are after Harry's death to flee the country as soon as possible. I advise you to request it of Voldemort. After your actions he will not deny it to you, I am reasonably certain."_

_"Why? Why should I flee the country?"_

_"You will know why." Dumbledore stated vaguely, "Of course that will not happen, I hope, for Merlin's sake. But if the future does play out that way, you must flee. For your own safety."_

_"I hope it could be just so simple." said Snape with a little mock. "Do you believe someone will be trying to kill me?"_

_Dumbledore paused, and wiped his forehead. "Yes.", he said solemnly, and seriously. "But I am afraid that YOU…" Dumbledore raised his hand and pointed directly at Snape "represent a far greater danger to yourself."_

_"I have never thought my health will enter into your planning." Snape said sharply, "Do you think my health will not allow me to finish this task? I think I matters not for winning war."_

_"Our lives are very valuable and we cannot allow ourselves to die without purpose and before our missions are finished."_

_That statement rose Snape's anger again. His face contorted into a painful grimace. "Then what a monster I am! Whatever happens, I will be considered a coward and a traitor in any case!" Snape's facial expression was venomous, filled with anger and bottomless frustration. "Either my health gives me an early death before I can finish the task the great Dumbledore has bestowed upon me and I will be considered weak and cowardly, or I will manage to hold on to life until the task is finished, and people will call me a traitor and a coward because I finished the task!" Snape laughed humorlessly, his eyes fixed directly onto Dumbledore's. Then his face sank down, and his voice became weary. "I have suffered enough already. I would never have thought a Warrior of the Light like yourself would sell half of his soul to the devil."_

_Dumbledore was silent for a moment. Then he nodded slowly. "You need not worry about how your actions in this mission will be perceived. I will give you my memory of this conversation and a letter, to demonstrate to everybody you are a brave man, and not a cowardly traitor. "_

_Hearing Dumbledore's words, Snape turned his face back to him. "You really will do this?" _

_"Yes." Dumbledore replied evenly, and his eyes rested on Snape's face. He must see the wizard was trying to gain a hold over his wildly raging emotions. "As you said, you have suffered enough already, and I do not want this task to cause you more suffering."_

_"Dumbledore. Don't try acting like a martyr again, it makes me sick." Snape said with a sneer. "Do you really think your dramatic demonstration of self-condemnation and remorse makes me feel better about this?" Snape's voice was full of bitterness again, "It seems my only choices are to be either a traitor or an ingrate…" He sighed deeply. "I had thought when I joined the Order the worst sacrifice required of me would be my own death." _

_"Never mention the word "death" so easily, Severus." _

_Mockingly Snape raised one brow, but nothing came out of his mouth. Instead, he just fell into silence. Beside him stood Dumbledore, whose eyes were now closed, giving him a serene look. He seemed to listen to the breeze rustling through the branches of the dark looming trees. The breeze floated through Dumbledore's silvery hair and his white, long beard, and sunshine glimmered on them._

_"Do you hear that?" Dumbledore suddenly said, "A bird is singing! Listen, Severus, I bet it is a cuckoo."_

_Snape raised his head, a hint of surprise in his eyes. In confusion he slowly turned around until his gaze fell onto an unknown point. Yes, it was a cuckoo, which was singing sweetly in the sun of spring. The simple, cheerful rhythm of his song weaved in the wind, in harmony with the scent of fresh leaves and dews._

_"So beautiful a sound." Dumbledore commented._

_"I don't think so at all." said Snape bitterly._

_"You still have many years to learn how to enjoy it." smiled Dumbledore._

_"Do you really believe I still have that time?"_

_"The longer you live, the more pleasant life will feel to you."_

_Snape turned his face away from Dumbledore. During the long silence, the sounds of nature around them were the only things heard in their small world._

_At the end of a long time of silence Snape started to say: _

_"To the world Albus Dumbledore is more awesome than the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord will torture you cruelly to death at your first little mistake, without care for how many years you have faithfully served him. But Albus Dumbledore…Albus Dumbledore will persuade you to fight against the Dark Lord, and hurt you with his death."_

Hermione felt herself being thrown out of the pensieve at the end of the memory, and found Dumbledore sitting in front of her, staring at her intensely.

"Now you have seen, and you know the truth." Dumbledore said with emphasis, looking directly into Hermione's eyes. He added in a gingerly voice "Now, Miss Granger, you can draw your own conclusions."

Hermione was unable to speak for a long, long while. Emotions poured into her heart, making it feel painful and empty. At last, she looked up to Dumbledore, her whisky colored eyes heavy with unshed tears of frustration.

"Everything fits into your plan, doesn't it?"

Dumbledore's eyebrows pulled up, his face settling into shock. How should he answer her demand? After a while, Dumbledore looked into Hermione's eyes, his face serious, and thoughtful "I am pursuing a plan, but…"

Before he finished his sentence, Hermione interrupted him.

"Everything plays a part in your plan, doesn't it? Even everyone's death?"

"That is not my intention…"

"But most of us did die, didn't we?" she asked sharply.

Dumbledore looked at her shockingly: "I can only design a plan but unforeseen things do happen, and that is beyond my control!"

"Thank you for telling me. That sounds very reasonable. But …" Hermione's voice started braking. "But now I don't want to be reasonable anymore!" Hermione desperately struggled to not cry, "I don't want to be reasonable. Is that allowed, Professor?" It was too much. Hermione's heart overflowed with grief at the deaths of all her friends, and how Harry's death and Merlin knows how many other people's deaths had been vital to Dumbledore's plan. The tears finally overwhelmed her, and she sank to the floor, her hands pressed against her face.

Dumbledore didn't speak. He just looked down at her trembling figure on the floor, and watched her tears flooding through her fingers, running down her cheeks.

A cold shiver ran up and down across Hermione's spine. Fighting in the war had helped her to develop a tough façade to shield her own emotions, allowing her to focus on what was necessary. She had learned sacrifice was necessary and inevitable if you wanted to succeed. But not until now had she fully understood the heavy weight of these words. She looked at Dumbledore. He was such an immaculate sage. He knew everything, predicted everything, and sacrificed everything. No wonder Dumbledore was able to defeat Voldemort. Voldemort never took pity on others, but Dumbledore sacrificed all he loved, even his own people, his reputation, his own life…and what on earth should he care when he was winning! He was more stone-hearted than even Voldemort. And even though he was so remorseful he wouldn't hesitate to sacrifice anything, and anybody!

Hermione felt so exhausted. She felt her stomach sinking and twisting. She felt so sick. And she didn't notice at which point the sickness gradually started to die away. It was not until Dumbledore's voice called her, that she awoke from her trance.

"Miss Granger, are you ok?"

"I am fine, thank you." She said with a small voice. Before Dumbledore could speak again, she added coldly, "I remember the favor you asked of me. Yes, I will rectify Snape's honor. After all, he did save my life. And there is much truth he can tell us about the war. But that is my personal business, and it need not concern you, Professor."

Without a further glance at Dumbledore's portrait, Hermione struggled to get up from the floor, and left the classroom as soon as possible.


	20. Chapter 20

A/N: Sorry for not bringing another new chapter for you, my dear readers. This is just a impulse…I want to say that so far I get 10,072 hits, 57 reviews, 21 favorites and 33 alerts!

I know it's nothing compared with some other masterwork, but I'm so excited about it! I dream for more, of course.

I think my story deserve more, and each review from you will make my day.

Thank you all again!


	21. Chapter 21 Ups and Downs 1

A/N: Sorry, my dear readers! I know it has been a long time since my last update, but my beta-reader had disappeared for about two months and she hadn't sent me the complete version of the betaed Chapter 20. Today I decide to post the betaed part of Chapter 20, in case my readers lose interest in it or forget it. So... I hope you like it.

Still **Thanks my warm-hearted beta-reader Crumplette**.

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Chapter Twenty - Ups and Downs

it was already dinner time. When she walked through the hallways back to Headmaster Flitwick's office, her feet brought her past the Great Hall, where she could see all the students were already sitting at their house tables, and enjoying themselves with the copious amount of savory food the Hogwarts kitchen was famous for. Hermione suddenly felt alone. Very alone. It had not been so long ago, when it was her sitting at the Gryffindor table with her friends. She sighed deeply, lost in her own thoughts. Her head held low, not caring where she was going.

_Why am I doing this_? She asked herself again and again, while wandering through the hallways, when saying good-bye to Professor Flitwick, when packing her belongings, even when she was finally sitting on her own bed again after having returned from Hogwarts.

Of course not for Dumbledore. Recalling the name of the former headmaster made her feel a bitter lump forming inside her heart, which wasn't entirely out of despise and hatred even she hoped she could hate and despise him. Dumbledore had again managed to demonstrate to her how much his heart seemed to be made of stone. He coldly was integrating people, their lives and deaths into his overall plan to defeat Voldemort. Though he undoubtedly had the greater good of the whole wizard population of Britain, maybe even of the whole world in mind, his methods to gain it had meant dismal deaths for many of Hermione's friends.

Yes, she knew Dumbledore did showed genuine concern for his people, but it was also fact that he calmly regarded the fate of people, using them as pawns in his plan. And those were the people whom she had loved and cherished, and it really made her angry! Was it useful that Dumbledore felt compassion for the sufferings he caused them when he used people? Dumbledore said that he had been ready to die for Harry, had considered to sacrifice his own life to preserve Harry's. But both Harry's and Voldmort's lives were intertwined. One cannot survive while the other one dies. The prophecy had said so, and now it sounded really like a good excuse. Dumbledore still was preserving his life to give it at one most important moment, as the most powerful strategic move possible. But he could only die for once and he couldn't waste someone's life at a less-great time. A chill pin pierced Hermione's heart: did he value our lives as humans, or as pawns?

While Dumbledore's stone-heartedness angered her immensely, his self-denial, calculating strategic thinking, and intelligence impressed her. His whole presence was dominated by his intelligence, always thinking a couple of steps ahead of his conversation partners, his strategic planning, his incredibly sensitive perception as if he almost could read a person's mind without even using legilimency. On top of that he was constantly exuding absolute calmness, even in heated discussions, as if he was always thinking a couple of steps ahead and knew exactly what to do and what to expect, even for his enemies. These qualities quite admirable, but also overwhelming at the same time. Hermione felt herself almost unable to bear them.

She had never felt so weak after hearing the intense discussion between Dumbledore and Snape about war, sacrifice and death. Each word had hit too close to home for her not to feel very emotionally involved. War. They had fought a desperate war against a dark wizard who had known no kindness, no compassion, and no remorse, just sadistic cruelty and torture. Although the memory about each battle had shattered into pieced, they had vividly implanted into Hermione's memory. Sacrifice. Too many friends had become sacrifices in Dumbledore's plan to win the war. Death. Everybody who had been close to her. Hermione knew each war had its sacrifice, its death. But why did they happen to be her beloveds?

Hermione had no strength to ponder any further what Dumbledore had said. She felt only intense feelings of immense sadness for her friends and for herself threatening to overwhelm her.

_I can't forget. No no, I must forget! _

She forced herself to snap out of her grief. If she succumbed to the sadness, she would be enveloped in it for a long time, until she finally cried herself to sleep, as she had done countless times. No, Hermione decided, she had cried enough. Crying did not help bring back the dead, nor did it help alleviate her grief.

No, Hermione thought to herself, Dumbledore was dead, and she could not let herself be neither dominated nor influenced by him anymore. The only reason she had allowed herself to get drawn into this was to repay Snape, and rectify his honor. After all, she owed him her life. She clearly remembered when Voldemort died and the battle fell into a chaos, one hand, which had grasped her, let go of her arm and pressed a wand into her palm, while the other hand pushed on her back hard. She knew that one must be Snape, because he was one of the two who grasped her.

But must I do this for him? All that he did was throwing her into the bloody battle, to fulfill her obligation as a Warrior of the Light. And she still couldn't forget those hateful encounters with him during her Hogwarts years. Snape was never her friend and she didn't do this for friendship. Then did she do this for her ideal? The innocent belief in him as the infallible and compassionately caring leader which she had held on to throughout all of her time at Hogwarts, and throughout the war, until she had realized he had sacrificed Harry. Now that she had lost her belief in Dumbledore, was her belief still intact, in in the cause of the war against Voldemort, the cause of the Order, and of the Light?  
She decided not to think about it any more. She would repay Snape, after all what could she expect for Snape after finding out about Dumbledore's scheme? And since she stood out to check Snape's corpse, she couldn't leave：her curiosity wouldn't let her go.

Hermione's face turned into a sneer. _No wonder the Gods had spared me during the war: they spared me just to deal with today's mess_.

Tomorrow will be another day. The next day was another difficult day for Hermione.

She knew exactly what it was she needed to take a stab at unraveling the mystery of what had transpired in Dumbledore's memory. She needed to find more information about that most powerful and horrible dark Wizard, whose name had not dared to be spoken by most people just two years ago, and whose Dark Mark tattoo had terrified the population of Wizard Britain. The Dark Lord whose life had been a puzzle and who to Hermione still remained the puzzle of all puzzles even after his death.

But where could she find more about Voldemort? Hermione knew she had nothing on that subject in her personal book collection. The Hogwarts library probably owned a few useful tomes in the Restricted Section, but Hermione did not want to involve Hogwarts in her quest again, if it somehow could be avoided. Dumbledore would surely find out about any visit she made, and she did not feel inclined to inform him about her activities regarding this matter.  
Hermione suddenly grimaced to herself. _I can always ask a Death Eater_. Of course. As if there were a lot of Death Eaters who were friendly enough with her to honestly tell her about their experiences and their assessments of their former leader. She could try to visit Azkaban again, but it was not likely she would get any honest information from anybody interred there.

The only other place holding a semblance of a possibility of finding information about the Dark Lord was her favorite bookstore in Diagon Alley, Flourish and Blotts. That was it. She was going for a visit to Flourish and Blotts and dig through all those wonderful books the store held. Yes, Flourish and Blotts held a lot of books, and cycled through their inventory quickly due to their large popularity which made them always the first to acquire new editions and publications. By all means she should be able to find something useful there. Hermione decided to call it a night, and start the next day fresh and early with a visit to her favorite bookstore.

The next morning she stepped into Flourish and Blotts and greeted the proprietor kindly. Then she looked around. It had been a while since her last visit here. The magic candle chandeliers hanging from the ceiling coloring the whole store in a warm slightly beige light, and she soon relaxed in the warm light. She started walking in awe from shelf to shelf, sometimes lightly touching a spine with her fingers, deciding which book look at more closely. Her eyes shone brightly with the fire they had not held often anymore since the war. Step by step she made her way through the darker section of the store. She felt alive again and hungrily connected with the abundance of information presented in here. Engulfed in the aroma of the books, totally lost in her own world Hermione did not notice her surroundings any longer until she suddenly bumped into somebody.

"What by Merlin...Granger!"

The harsh, loud and hostile voice startled her out of her book induced euphoria and made her jump. Hastily she muttered something like "Sorry. Didn't notice you were standing there."

Once she had composed herself, she looked up and saw directly into a dull face. She recognized the man immediately from her time at Hogwarts, it was Gregory Goyle. Time, however, had not been kind to him as she recognized his stature to be much less imposing now as it had been during their time together at Hogwarts. His face was no longer rosy. His small eyes looked still clumsy, but no longer containing the used-to-be mirth. With his hair cut short and untidy clothes, he looked rather listless, like a sack of potatoes. He was carrying piles of books on his shoulders which instantly gave Hermione the feeling of being mocked: in Hogwart Goyle would run away from a book as fast as Peeves ran away from Bloody Baron.

"Sorry, Goyle. I should pay more attention to where I am walking." Hermione said calmly, looking into his beady eyes. With her tainted memories of him during her Hogwarts time she couldn't prevent an unkind thought entering her mind, but he looked quite pitiful, He resembled nothing more than a goyle.

"What are you doing here?" he inquired mostly in surprise, though with a very small but still perceivable hint of malice. It would have given her heart a little sting, had he not appeared so downtrotten.

"I'm looking for information about pure blood."

" Why are you interested in info about us purebloods?" Goyle's eyes full of a pig-like suspence, "Anyways, that's something you will never have, Granger!"

Hermione felt her face flush in the dimmer light of this store section. _Why can I not be interested in information about you purebloods? Is that information only deserved to be acquired by members of the pure blood society? No! You guys don't own the monopoly on that! _

Pureblood superiority wasn't stranger to Hermione. when she arrived at Hogwarts full of hopes and dreams, just to realize people of her "lowly impure blood status", as in people born to muggle parents, were second class citizens in the eyes of many magical folk. The Dark Lord Voldemort had focused on blood purity, and had continued to foster that prejudice which had presented Hermione with so many unsavory situations. Now the war was over. She had learned how to face and stand the subtle prejudice in those seems-civil looks and talks. But how dare Goyle ask her like this? He didn't even know how to spell _Acromantula_! How could Goyle behave towards her as if purity of blood was the property of people of his ilk, and she was trying to wrongfully claim it for herself?

However, Hermione couldn't even muster the energy to deign Goyle with a feisty retort. Especially when she came to think of what had happened to him. Goyle's family had taken a large toll from the aftermath of the war. She didn't know what both Goyle's and Crabbe's fathers did to save themselves from being brought to justice to receive their rightful punishment for their crimes. Anyway, after the war they had engaged in debauchery and women, and one day had managed to be arrested by the muggle police in a brothel during a concerted drug raid in the muggle red light district of London, when both of them fell unconscious because of "muggles' addictive white powder". In the end, it took several Aurors disguised as muggle polices to transfer Goyle Sr. and Crabbe Sr from muggle police station—with a lot of memory spell—to Azkaban, and only one year later they both died there.

This story about "how old Goyle and Crabbe died on muggle women" had made the front pages of at least a couple of editions of the Daily Prophet, and had been the scandal of wizarding Britain for most of last year, making their families outcasts in their own society circle. This had affected Goyle's mother and sister so much they had succumbed to deep depression. These immensely hurtful experiences must have had a devastating effect on Gregory Goyle. It was thus no wonder he was clinging tightly to his prejudice. With his best friends dead and his family in shambles it was all he had left of his former life.

Hermione kept quiet, and Goyle lost his interest in taunting her. With his shoulders hunched down, he lazily walked away. Hermione couldn't help feeling a lump in her throat: the Slytherins in her Hogwarts class had died, experienced grief and pain, and were lost in life, the same as Hermione and her Gryffindor friends. But Hermione didn't say so: These immensely hurtful experiences must have had a devastating effect on Gregory Goyle. It was thus no wonder he was clinging tightly to his prejudice. With his best friends dead and his family in shambles it was all he had left of his former life. She kept quiet, and Goyle lost his interest in taunting her. With his shoulders hunched down, he lazily walked away. Hermione couldn't help feeling a lump in her throat: the Slytherins in her Hogwarts class had died, experienced grief and pain, and were lost in life, the same as Hermione and her Gryffindor friends.


End file.
